


The Harem

by Sistermine



Series: Slavery [1]
Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: AU, M/M, reposted early fanfic, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 08:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sistermine/pseuds/Sistermine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esca finds himself enslaved in a brothel.  </p>
<p>Will his jailer show him any compassion?  More to the point, can he escape from here?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Harem

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta-ed early fanfic.
> 
> Esca's POV for the events in "The Terms of Trade", written for a prompt on the kink-meme, summer 2011.

  
He is pushed around all the way from the wagon to the large hall where they all end up. Then the sorting begins, each person taken individually, still tied at the arms, by one of the uniformed guards.  
  
When it's his turn he's paraded along a short length of carpet whilst two uniforms discuss him in words he mostly doesn't understand, though occasionally picks up some he thinks he knows. One of the words is small. He thinks he heard pretty. He definitely didn't like it when they pull up the tunic and undo his bracchae and prod him. His tattoos seem to cause curiosity, and then he is manhandled away, off balance, by another uniform.  
  
They leave the room and go some distance through corridors lined with statues and artworks, soft coloured cloths underfoot, into some even more sumptious bit of this complex, and then down a flight of stairs and through a series of covered walkways, around courtyards and quadrangles. He's too muzzy to resist, after the previous beatings, and just spends his energy staying on his feet. He couldn't tell you what direction they are now going in, though he did try to keep track at the start.  
  
They enter a separate building, and warm humid air hits him in the chest, making it even more difficult to breath. Through another door it is even warmer, and then he's in a room with two women from the same batch of slaves, and they are naked, and soon so is he.  
  
At some point they force him to drink again, though he tries, as ever, to resist; to fight, to spit, to not-swallow, but the main guard has the technique down pat now, and then he's in that other world, shakily next to the real one, but seductive and pleasanter. He knows he's finding it harder to distance himself; the brief moments of lucidity getting shorter.  
  
There are several people around him now, and he is lying on his back with someone scraping him hard, and an acrid smell. Someone has a hand on his balls, and he squirms as much as he's able when he feels the scraping on them. He's too muzzy for it to hurt, but it's not pleasant. A loud voice says something unintelligible and other hands hold him still, and someone laughs at a comment as the first person holds his balls together and firmly tugs them. The next gesture is not lost on him – a threat, which he registers and knows is real, despite the language barrier; he keeps still after that.  
  
He is drifting now, the warmth and the brew combining to suck at him, take him beyond even the seductive world, and yet he knows this is dreaming, and it fills him with pain. Bodily pain, bruises aplenty to outmatch the colour of his few earned tattoos; emotional pain, as he sees his losses line up to weep, or worse, jeer at him, the survivor; and lastly, humiliatingly, fear: fear of the future, fear of what they will do to him here, fear of living. Nausea rolls over him, even in his dreams, and next he is on his side, convulsively vomiting into a brass bowl, and voices berate each other above him. One older voice stands out, and a white-haired man is looking at him, holding his eyelids open. He is giving commands to someone unseen and now Esca understands what's being said as they've switched from their earlier vernacular into the tongue that he has been learning, fast.  
  
They are not pleased to have to deal with him, as he is considered a threat. That pleases him and he feels a burst of pride in his belly – let them not forget he is their enemy. But then his mind reels as he hears what is being said, and he can't quite believe he has the right translations, the right words.  
  
The man is saying, “My nephew will have to train him ...(something like thoroughly?), he is unlikely to know anything but the most … (he doesn't get the next word) arts. Augustus is going to want him subdued but not broken. Dose him less but do it more often, and we'll see if that works. Leave his balls for now, but take his hair … (something about all Britons having … maybe lice?), cut his nails short, and purge him. We're halfway there already and we can feed him up later. I'll come back and do the … (another unknown word?) myself when he's cleaned.”  
  
Other voices murmur agreement and then he is back to being manhandled on the table, bitter taste in his mouth and throat harsh from coughing. Time starts to do odd things and he is aware sometimes of being surrounded by beautiful people stroking him and touching him tenderly, dressed in curious garments, and sometimes by harsh voices yelling at him, pulling him and pushing him and holding him down, ugly faces twisted up into his own, the hated uniformed guards gripping his limbs and forcing cup after cup of vile mixtures down his throat, leather-gloved fingers forcing him to drink.

 

*

  
He has memories of pissing what felt like blood and defecating endlessly, more bruises as he twisted in pain and resistance. His hair has gone, his face endlessly scraped clean along with the rest of his body, and he has burning places around his nose, his earlobes, his nipples, his cock and his perineum where they have stuck things into him, pain breaking through the haze and a brief memory of the old man smiling delightedly; his hands are tied back to back behind him from when he tried to pull out the metal from his skin as he sobered.  
  
Eventually, the room resolves, and no-one is touching him, no-one is there. It is fairly dark. He blinks repeatedly, focusing on the wall opposite, and cataloguing his body. It aches. All over. He is starving. His head is worst, there is a pounding drugged feeling, worse than after the Beltane fires. He tries to sit up, which is hard with his hands still tied. He manages to shuffle around and get his feet, which are also tied but with a small length of rope between them, over the edge of the table he is on, and then swings up. Ugh, that was a mistake. His stomach rebels, and he needs to put his head down again, so he lies sideways back down until the churning passes.  
  
When he next gets up, he does it much more slowly. He has managed to get to his feet and blearily look round the small room when he hears footsteps through the open doorway. He is frozen when the man turns the corner and enters the room, carrying a jug and a covered plate. The man is large, brown-skinned, barefoot and dressed curiously, in what appears to be - ribbons, or thin bands of cloth in an elaborate twisted design, all in a dark green cloth that augments his skin colour. He has jewellery on his face and darkened eyes, and it is just as Esca realises how naked he himself is that the man speaks, in Latin, but in what sounds like a local accent.  
  
“You have woken”.  
  
Esca stares at him, then starts to ask questions, suddenly wanting to know a whole stream of things. He can manage the Latin for these, though they are not all of his questions: “Where am I; what do you want with me; what day is it; where are the others; where are my clothes?” At the last question the other man smiles a little.  
  
“They will dress you. I am here to feed you. I can tell you some of the things you wish to know, but first you must eat”. He gestures at Esca to sit on the table, and comes over to sit down himself. “They do not trust you – you have caused them trouble”. Esca can't tell whether the man is sympathetic; he keeps saying they, so he obviously doesn't identify with these others.  
  
He decides to listen to the man and eat. He will need strength to get out of here. He realises that he has made a choice – to live, at least for now.  
  
“You can untie me. I won't hurt you”, he says to the man. The man laughs loudly. “No, you won't. But I cannot untie you, though I am sorry.”  
  
The man starts to try to feed him and Esca reluctantly takes the small bite-sized piece of some kind of nutty bread from his fingers. It glues his tongue to his palate and he coughs, and the man gives him water from a beaker.  
  
“Tell me your name”, Esca manages, “and tell me what you can of why I am here.” He thinks he catches a flash of sympathy as the man begins.  
  
“I am Greyda. You are in the house of Augustus, and I believe you will be here to serve his guests, if not him. I do not know if he likes boys, but he has many guests.”  
  
“You mean I am to be a whore?” Esca felt his blood go cold, though he had known already, in truth.  
  
The man laughed. “In a way. You will not be paid though, so you are not a whore, merely a slave, as are the rest of us, one way or another.”  
  
“Do you...” Esca swallowed the next bite, unable to finish his question.  
  
Greyda eyed him. “Do they fuck me, or I them? No. I am a slave of the household, not the visitors”.  
  
Esca asked, “What is the difference?”  
  
Greyda held the beaker for him again and replied, “The visitors' slaves are expected to perform, and to accompany the guests to their beds. They do no household chores, except in the baths”.  
  
“And can you not escape; leave here?”  
  
“I would not get far; no slave gets far. My skin stands out amidst your paleness here so I would last even less time than those that do get away. Slaves that are re-captured are tortured and killed for fun. I know of none that made it.” Greyda fed him the last piece. “What is your name, little man?”  
  
Esca reeled off his full name, and Greyda laughed again. “Esca. Esca will do in here.”  
  
Esca had tried to explore, but Greyda made him stay as he left. He was locked into a space with just three rooms, all hot and humid with no windows and tiled floors. He stared at the gold pieces he could see spearing his flesh, including a bizarre glint of something tying his cock over his balls, and he bent over to try to see better, knees apart, but couldn't get the angle.  
  
He was hungry again, but his gut felt tender. When he needed to piss he found somewhere in a smaller room vaguely suitable looking - he dimly remembered it from the drugged period - and managed to do it without getting too much all over himself by sitting down. He wondered why they left him alone. Eventually, sleep took him, and his dreams returned, not so vivid or accusative now, but sad and melancholy, filled with loss.  
  
This time when he woke there were three people in the room; Greyda with another plate, a uniform, and another man, a bit older and a lot bigger than him, dressed in fine clothes. He took charge, quickly instructing Greyda to leave the plate near Esca and then leave, and stationing the uniform in the corridor after getting him to undo Esca's hands.  
  
You may eat the food”. Marcus gestured at the plate.  
  
Esca shrugged his shoulders and rubbed his arms to try to un-stiffen himself before picking up some of the food, then asked why he was here.  
  
“The Gods have smiled upon you. You are not in a common brothel in the town, where anyone might buy you, nor have you to face a short and brutal life in the arena. My master has favoured you”.  
  
Esca's snort brought a look of disdain from Marcus.  
  
“You were a warrior?” Marcus asked.  
  
“No”, said Esca.  
  
“You have an athlete's frame. Do you dance?”  
  
“What?” Esca stalled a bit, wondering if they knew what they had taken. The first question made him think not.  
  
“Can you dance or sing, or play an instrument, or recite?”  
  
“No”.  
  
“Have you had sexual intercourse?”  
  
Esca looked up. “No”. This might let them guess quickly, but he couldn't lie.  
  
Marcus looked at him, surprised. “With neither a woman nor a man?”  
  
Esca felt himself flush. Traitorous body. “Neither”, he said.  
  
Marcus looked puzzled. “A farm animal?”  
  
Esca was not sure if this was to rile him – it certainly worked - but Marcus had said it very blandly. “No”, he exclaimed.  
  
“Have you performed fellatio or cunnilingus”, he looked at Esca's face, the unfamiliar words making him frown; “oral sex – using your mouth and tongue on a man or woman's genitals?” Esca shook his head. Marcus frowned at him, raising an eyebrow. “No”, Esca said.  
  
“Annilingus?” Again Marcus noticed his confusion. “Licking, sucking, tonguing the anus of another?”  
  
“No”, said Esca emphatically.  
  
“Have you masturbated anyone else, man or woman? Touched their genitals with your hands”, he elaborated at Esca's pause.  
  
“No”, Esca's voice was getting belligerent again as he regained his equilibrium.  
  
“Has anyone done any of this to you?”  
  
“No”, said Esca more quietly.  
  
“Have you kissed anyone, in a sexual way?”  
  
“No”, this time his answer was clipped short.  
  
“Have you masturbated yourself?”  
  
“Yes”.  
  
Marcus nodded. “Show me”.  
  
Esca's head flew up. “Who are you?” He was annoyed with himself that he was so beaten down by the situation that he had failed to take the slightest notice of his circumstances. However, he could already tell that the big man's bearing was military, and that the guard around the corner was poised for action, not at all complacent. Part of that gave him comfort.  
  
“Forgive me”, said the man. I am Marcus Flavius Aquila. You may call me Marcus. I am told your name is Esca.”  
  
Esca spoke his whole name and lineage.  
  
“Well, Esca”, said Marcus, ignoring the rest. “I am to teach you how to behave here, so that you may stay alive, please others, and in time, perhaps thrive. We both work in our various ways for Augustus, who you must address as master”. He had come over to Esca, looming above him, and then bent and used some small device between his legs. In shock, Esca didn't move. As Marcus stepped back, Esca's cock came free, two smallish gold rings now wholly visible at the end, threaded through his foreskin on either side. Esca felt faint.  
  
Marcus stood there waiting. “Proceed”, he commanded. When Esca did nothing, he frowned again. “Lie down on your back and close your eyes, then masturbate”.  
  
Esca was arguing with himself internally. Should he not comply, he was under no illusion about what would happen to him. The question was, how far would he have to go, to sell himself, to compromise, before he would find an opportunity to get free? He could choose again to die, right here, but he knew he had chosen differently already. He would comply. However, he didn't have to do everything that they asked,the way they asked.  
  
However, he didn't have to do everything that they asked. He stayed sitting and kept his eyes on Marcus as put his hand on his cock and began to touch himself, a fist round his shaft, trying to ignore the rings that stung a little when he did his normal long strokes.  
  
It took ages for him to get hard; determined not to give in and close his eyes, but to do this with his pride intact. Marcus observed him dispassionately, frowning slightly as time went on. Eventually his body started to respond, and he could block the Roman out of his mind even whilst he was staring at him, and other thoughts took over, people he'd desired, previous times he'd masturbated, briefly he even thought of Greyda in his green bands and darkened eyes and of the two naked women he'd barely been aware of when they arrived here.  
  
His breath was becoming uneven and he felt close. He moved his hand faster, ignoring the hot soreness of the rings, and then doubled over as his body convulsed, not really pleasure but a sweaty completion, slowly becoming aware again of his surroundings, of Marcus watching him, and of the stickiness now on his hand.  
  
Marcus said, “Good”, handing him a dampened cloth; he wiped his torso, his cock and his hand. Marcus held out a bowl for the cloth, and then stood up. He came over and fumbled with Esca's cock, fastening it down again somehow, saying, “I will send Greyda to check your piercings and bring more food”.  
  
Esca slumped back as he left. He had no idea what he had done; what he needed to do.  
  
*  
  
The next time Marcus came in he had a woman with him.. She was wearing more of the ribbon-like clothes, and Esca looked more closely than he had at Greyda. Hers were a different colour; like the pink roses of summer hedges; they emphasised her cheeks and contrasted with her dark hair. The strips were quite wide running down her body from the shoulders, over her breasts, meeting in a deep V below her navel and running between her legs. Another band wrapped around above her waist. The material flexed with her, and conspired to cover her modesty whilst inviting the mind to imagine what was beneath. Her legs were bare, but her feet were wrapped in soft leather straps of pale brown. She had large gold hoops in her earlobes, and a single gold chain from one ear to a nosering, painted eyes and lips, a gold bangle on one upper arm, and now that Esca studied more closely, a thin gold chain across her chest under the cloth. He could also see faint marks and one darker purple bruise on her neck; love bites his people called them, though he suspected there was no love here.  
  
She was carrying an armful of colourful cloths, and Marcus bade her put them on the table. He turned to Esca and asked him to stand, politely, as if talking to an equal. Esca stood and Marcus and the girl conversed in the local language, looking him over. Again, he felt like a horse, a very naked horse under the woman's gaze, though she didn't meet his eyes.  
  
Marcus chose some colours from the pile of cloths and showed them to her, questioning her. She chose a pale yellow and Marcus draped it over Esca's shoulder. She shook her head, and then pulled out a slate blue from his arm, draping it over the other shoulder. Both of them nodded, and then Marcus also picked up a pure white. She said something sharply, brows drawn together and he replied, flicking his eyes at Esca before they both laughed, and the woman finally made eye contact with him then looked away. He felt even more uncomfortable with the flash of sympathy he thought he saw on her face.  
  
Then Marcus spoke to him. “We will dress you now for the ceremony tonight.”  
  
“What ceremony?”, he asked.  
  
“It is a holy day, and you will be inducted into the house, accepted by Augustus. It is auspicious”.  
  
“What will he do?” Esca had no illusions really, but it might be better to know for sure. Marcus might tell him.  
  
“He will call on the Gods to adopt and protect his new slaves and ease their passage from their previous lives to this one. You will take the ceremonial grain. He will probably fuck each of you; if not tonight, then shortly. He is especially fond of virgins. Afterwards, he may give you to others.” Marcus was very matter of fact. “As you have not completed the training, you will be subdued”.  
  
Esca jerked. “What?”  
  
“You will be given the poppy so that you do not fight. That would not be auspicious”. Marcus smiled a little.  
  
“No. I'm not taking that again.” Esca felt panic begin; somehow it seemed worse to have things happen to him when he was unaware, than knowing the full horror of them consciously.  
  
Marcus actually looked sympathetic. “I would recommend that you do. I doubt that you will … enjoy the proceedings without it, and it would be a shame to lose you so soon”.  
  
He moved nearer to Esca and took up the white fabric, folding the length in half to find the centre. “Stand tall and raise your arms”, he instructed, and put the middle of the length across Esca's abdomen. Esca wondered if Marcus could feel his shaking, and tried for the sake of his pride to control it.  
  
The woman moved behind Esca and took the strips at each of his sides, then he was startled as he felt her pushing her hands between his legs. Marcus knelt and took the fabric as it came through and threw one band over his own shoulder whilst he unfolded the other as wide as it would go. He tucked Esca's cock and balls into the band and then tugged the end of the cloth up through the crossways piece, bringing it to Esca's shoulder where the woman took it again. Marcus did the same with the other piece of cloth, pulling it up to the opposite shoulder under the band. They did something behind his back and then they were crossing the bands over his ribs and then back behind him. Marcus was talking to the woman in her language again; Esca realised she was sewing the cloth at the back of his buttocks when she pricked him and he yelped in surprise, and she said something that Marcus translated as “Sorry, nearly done”.  
  
When the sewing was complete, Marcus bade him sit on the table and the woman painted his face with things from her basket, Marcus interpreting her instructions to close his eyes, open his mouth, keep still. He thought he caught a glimpse of amusement on the Roman's face as he sat sullenly surrendering to her touches.  
  
Finally, Marcus turned him around and they both looked at him, admiring their handiwork. Marcus demonstrated with a deft hand the way to open the gaps in the cloth to Esca, so that he might perform his ablutions when necessary. Esca felt doubly imprisoned.  
  
*  
  
The guard came and dosed him later, and when the haze came over him, they walked him out of the tiled area he had been kept in for days, along the corridors and quadrangles to a hall filled with lamplight. It may have been the same room as previously; Esca was disorientated and struggling to focus.  
  
He was seated on a couch next to Marcus - wearing a toga - and opposite two ribboned women, one in orange cloths and the other in white, both in jewellery and with headdresses topping their still-short hair. Various others were in the large room, several men in togas, a few women in fine dress, uniformed guards, and slaves moving amongst them.  
Esca tried to tune in to what was being done when the ceremony started, but the words just made shapes in his head, refusing to settle into meaning. He followed various movements, a parade of objects with a venerated casket at one point, and some attempt at a sacred dance at another. His mind floated, and he found himself thinking of his own sacred dance that he had never performed in its rightful place, and now never would.  
  
The haze occasionally lifted, and at one point he was aware of an older man, tall and authoritative, speaking. He was fed a cake of mealy grain, and then the room seemed filled with slaves dancing, but later he thought that that was his imagination. He saw the grey-hair take the white-banded woman opposite by the hand and lead her away, her head down. He struggled to keep his own head up and watch them, but he lost ability, and his next lucid moment was Marcus holding him up, strangely gentle.  
  
He had a vivid impression later of the grey-hair's cock in his own mouth, red and urgent, and his inability to do anything but take it, tears in his eyes and a harsh hand on his head.  
  
He also remembered words exchanged over his head; only occasionally making sense: virgin, plans, governor.  
  
*  
  
Greyda was shaking him awake. “Esca”, he said loudly, “come on boy, waken. You need to eat”. Esca's stomach rolled as he tried to rise to sitting, awareness swimming back in to his senses. “I am still in here?” he asked Greyda, who nodded, offering him the water.  
  
“Drink this first”, Greyda commanded him, and he swallowed it down, the woozy feeling receding a little. “They are keeping you isolated for longer, until the Governor's visit it seems. You are quite a commodity – a virgin to offer him when he comes. Can't have you mixing with the boys in the slave-house; your virginity would be gone in seconds”, Greyda laughed, encouraging him to eat.  
  
“My virginity is gone already; I have been forced to take and to give”. Esca felt sadness infuse him and he internally apologised to the god he'd failed. In truth, he'd failed the moment he was captured; he'd failed alongside his clan when they'd been overtaken by the Roman ways but tried to keep their own, years ago.  
  
It had been vain of his mother to think she could raise an Eagle-follower in those circumstances; he'd really never had chance to become one with the Eagle at a mighty gathering; all those years he'd been preparing now seemed a sorry waste.  
  
He had earned a few stripes on the hunting field before being chosen. Not that an extra warrior would have made any difference to the final outcome; indeed he himself had been allowed to fight in the end, some of his training put to use.  
  
He thanked the god that he had managed some damage before the blow to the head that took him out of that awful fight, awakening to find his family dead, his tribe dead, and entering his own unlucky enslavement, lost to the Eagle forever.  
  
Greyda pulled him from his thoughts. “But, you have not been taken?”, he questioned.  
  
Esca frowned, uncomprehending.  
  
“In the arse?” Greyda clarified.  
  
Esca shook his head, unwilling to remember the details of the previous night. He looked up at Greyda. “No, but they raped my mouth. What difference does it make.”  
  
“All the difference in the world to them; their rules mean you are still a virgin to protect.”  
  
Esca laughed, mirthlessly. “Their rules make no sense. What about you? Are they not worried that you will take what's theirs?”  
  
Greyda smiled sadly at him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I cannot have an erection, so you are safe from me.”  
  
The rooms were darkened, with lamps brassy in the main areas and candlelight leaping out of various corners. He felt the lure of the drug in his system adding to the distance, remoteness. Esca felt removed from time; only occasionally did his conscious-self catch up with what was happening to him and revolt. Then he would try to hold on, resolving to end it, to find a way out of here. But the drug was stronger and his will was nothing beneath it.  
  
The murmur of conversation was occasionally interrupted by someone's harsher laugh or loud assertion. It was a surprise when he was crowded by people, a toga-clad man and a be-ribboned woman. The man was touching his face, smoothing his jaw and then dragging a hand down his chest and below, cupping his genitals through the white cloth. He spoke to the woman, Alayne, who went to her knees in front of Esca, parting the cloth at his groin and uncovering his cock, gently pulling him free and mouthing him. Despite the drug in his system, he still felt shock; paralysed by the desire to stop this, to fling her aside, to fight for his honour, warring with the knowledge that it was futile, that he was already lost, that he had been placed on - and accepted - another path.  
  
He felt a mighty distance away from her as she sucked him in; the delay in his sensations making the warmth of her mouth disconnect from the sight of her tongue running up his cock, trying to tease him to hardness. He concentrated what conscious power he could muster on staying upright and not lashing out.  
  
The toga'd man was unimpressed, and leant across her to take Esca's penis in his hand as she continued to suckle the end. Esca felt his cock respond to the man's hold, even more so when he uncovered one of Esca's nipples and started to twist the nipple-ring, the powerful sensation going straight to Esca's groin. His shame was a mighty distance too.  
  
The man made a guttural noise and pulled his toga aside, revealing his own erection. He pulled Alayne towards him and got her to start sucking him, whilst he carried on, fist stroking up and down Esca's cock. On another level Esca's treacherous body enjoyed the sensations, remotely; watching the woman's lips as she worked the man's dick. He could feel arousal building in him as she moved her hands under the ribbons down her torso, over her breasts, down to her belly and back up again, this time pulling the tapes aside to reveal darkened nipples with gold rings, breasts held up to the other's gaze as he pumped Esca harder, the three of them tied up in this dance.  
  
Esca only half felt the spasm of orgasm, the sensations muted by the drug flowing in him; the man was now turning him around, trying to get him down on his knees, hands on his arse. The next thing he knew, giddy from looking up, was the man standing, grimacing; Marcus looming over the other man's shoulder, saying something into his ear that made the man cease to resist. Marcus clearly had him in an arm-lock; Esca heard him saying firmly, quite pleasantly, “This is not your first time as our guest, Placidus; I know you know the rules and it is clear he is in the white bands … is it not?” Placidus squirmed a little, and Marcus moved him away, relaxing his hold to drape an arm, apparently casual, around the man's shoulders, who was still trying to look at Esca. Marcus was saying, more lightly, “I think you have decided to go now.” He walked the man away, continuing, “It has been such a long evening for us all hasn't it; we're so sorry that your duties call you away so soon”.  
  
Esca looked down at the floor and tried to focus on the tiled pattern.  
  
*  
  
At some point Marcus had taken him back to his quarters. He'd been awake enough to walk unaided and they obviously felt no guard was necessary – Marcus was clearly able to take care of himself.  
  
He tried to concentrate on the route they'd taken, imagining the layout of the complex of buildings, and where the exits might be, storing the information away, hoping that at some point he might be able to use it. He also tried to listen to the Roman; Marcus seemed to like him, his protective duties translating into an attempt at friendship. Esca found this strangest of all. Why would he befriend his jailer?  
  
*  
  
That night he performed as the Eagle in his dreaming, entire from start to finish.  
  
He found some measure of peace in it; that the God had granted him leave to display himself, even in this sordid place, that he might fulfil something of his destiny. When he woke, mouth bitter and head pounding, he realised the truth: he must put aside the eagle for ever now.  
  
But the gods grant he was to choose another aid to get through the interminable and confusing future. The god had hinted in the dream, and Esca struggled to remember what he had seen, what he had been. He couldn't grasp the memory, but knew he was to be allowed an earth-bound creature as a help-mate.  
  
He thought hard about what to pick. His helper would need to be strong and stoic; it could be many moons before he found any way to escape. He mulled over the characteristics of the beasts that he knew, rejecting each in turn, and finally his thoughts settled on the mule – this was the echo in the dream, he was sure. He would become the mule whilst he was in here – a beast of burden, endlessly patient, bullied and ridden, but Esca... Esca would remain protected, equally stubborn, and unyielding inside. The mule would give Esca a way to learn more, and to keep his bearings; to be allowed into the complex sober. Though...  
  
Esca must perhaps be cleverer than the mule. He must perhaps befriend his jailer.  
  
*  
  
Marcus held his cock gently, just one finger and thumb around the ridge. Esca leant back against him, juggling the needs inside him. This was the first time that anyone had touched him with his sober... perhaps not consent, but acquiescence; the first time he had allowed anyone to touch him like this, ever. He was the mule, stoic, and Mule pushed Esca, resistant, aside and allowed Marcus to show him the technique. Mule tuned in to Marcus's voice and body. They were all that mattered now.  
  
Marcus had sent a stream of guards and steadily furnished his cell-suite with furniture, pillows and drapes, so that it looked more like the rooms in the rest of the complex, though it was still kept warm and he was still kept naked. They were sitting together naked on a divan now, Esca's back against Marcus's chest, legs sprawled in front tangled together, one of Esca's legs draped over Marcus's, holding him open. Marcus was gently playing with one still-slightly-sore nipple ring whilst slowly stroking his cock, teasing him to fullness, and all the while keeping up a commentary on what he was doing so that Esca might learn; might learn so that he could do it to others.  
  
“See how you stiffen in my hand”, Marcus looked down over his shoulder. “There are some who cannot gain an erection easily, and you must help”. Esca looked down too, at his own flesh, gold pieces glinting as Marcus's circled fingers lightly moved back and forth. He was surprised when Marcus firmly sucked his neck, and groaned out loud as his body reacted, arching up. Marcus laughed into his neck, “You are very responsive, now that you allow it”. He stroked his thumb over the top of Esca's cock, round and round, pressing over the slit.  
  
Esca wanted to argue, to assert himself, but the mule kept control: this was working; Marcus began to trust him. He stroked Marcus's flank in acknowledgement as he lay back against him, feeling only the sensation.  
  
“There will be times when you want this to go on for a long time, and others when you want someone to come quickly. It will of course depend on what has already passed between you, and how recently they have orgasmed”.  
  
Esca rebelled against the idea that he had any choice in the matter – surely he would want anyone taking him to come as quickly as possible, so that the whole thing was over, fast. But then he realised that - in here - he might well be handed on to someone else, to make them come too. His stomach lurched; this was going to be harder than he'd thought. He must needs be an actor - like the travelling players that sometimes came around, dissembling and pretending; the mule, merely put-upon, was not quite enough. He wondered that Marcus could do this. Some time he would ask him.  
  
Marcus was suckling at his neck now, and the feelings went straight to his groin. “You like that”, Marcus said, not a question, and licked him, trailing his tongue up behind his ear; Esca - no, Mule - squirmed and whimpered. Marcus added, “You need to learn how your own body reacts; what you like to do or have done to you. I will leave you unlocked so that you can touch yourself, and you will show me later what you have found out”.  
  
Marcus let go of his cock and Mule made a noise of disappointment. “It is possible to come just from this, given enough time”, Marcus had put one finger back on his cock, pressing just below the ridge on a sensitive spot, circling slightly, rearranging their bodies so that Esca's legs and arms were firmly held apart and open by Marcus's. “Relax; let your muscles go”, Marcus said. He continued touching; a tiny area of pressure, kissing and licking behind Esca's ear as Mule moaned and strained, wanting more. “Relax. Let it wash over you”, Marcus repeated.  
  
As it went on, Marcus just touching him, tantalising, in that one delicious place, pressing the pad of his finger, Esca became aware of his body's reactions: abdomen hardening, his whole groin firming up, his thighs clenching and balls tightening. He tried to relax them all at Marcus's command, but it became harder and harder to let go.  
  
He wanted to come; Mule was completely surrendered to this feeling, lying back letting Marcus set his pace. Slowly, slowly, his body gathered itself as Marcus carried on, unhurried. Now Mule was gasping, writhing against Marcus, needing more. He heard himself gasp out Marcus's name as he felt his body coiling up, higher and higher. Marcus licked into his ear, and whispered “Don't come, Esca”, but he felt the tension snapping as Marcus bit his earlobe, sucking the sore bit around the earring, and his body flexed and tensed up hard. He yelled out, waves of sensation overtaking him, pulses going through his entire body, his penis pumping again and again, another wave as he felt Marcus take hold of him gently, caressing more from him as he groaned, and then slumped, exhausted and boneless.  
  
After a while, Marcus cleaned him up with a cloth, then turned Esca about onto his side, and had him learn more; Marcus's cock was purple; hard and ready, and he had more to demand of Esca. Mule took hold and did what Marcus demonstrated, listening to Marcus's instructions and responding to his increasing breathing.  
  
Marcus evidently liked it hard; so harsh, Esca thought that it must hurt him, but finally he gripped Esca's fist and held it still and firm around him as he came, closing his eyes and spurting onto his stomach.  
  
Esca studied Marcus's face, and was startled when the Roman opened his eyes and looked straight at him, expression of pain and lip bitten; he lowered his gaze quickly, shutting himself off again.  
  
Marcus breathed out, and was back to business. “Most like it gentler; you will learn to judge from what they say but also from how they breath and move. Some find pain or restraint necessary to orgasm; we will study that more in time”.  
  
*  
His nakedness seemed normal now, even when others came with food or shaving equipment. Apart from the guards who accompanied women into his room, the only man he saw - aside from Marcus - was Greyda. The women did not speak to him beyond instructions in halting Latin. He began to learn more of Greyda, who was kind to him, and amidst stories of his own life, helped him unravel some of Esca's current mysteries, discussing the ways of the villa and of the local town. But Greyda was cautious about giving him other information – he wouldn't tell Esca where they were, or the layout of the villa, or anything about Marcus or Augustus.  
  
Having Marcus naked with him became fairly normal too. It had been days, thankfully, with no further public events, but every day brought a session with the large, powerful but scarred man.  
  
Mule was helpful and attentive, and often in the aftermath of Marcus's teachings they would talk, Esca's Latin improving rapidly, though he could get no purchase on the local language - no-one would converse with him in it. Esca was sometimes aware that he was telling Marcus stories of his life and tribe that he would not have thought any Roman interested in, and also aware that often it was Esca telling the stories, not the mule; Esca building bridges with this alien, telling his tales in the foreign tongue; Esca relieving his loneliness.  
  
Esca reminded himself he was making the effort to appear friendly to Marcus to help further his plans to escape, but he found he also wanted to understand him. From what he'd gleaned of Roman ways, the ex-soldier was an anomaly.  
  
He asked Marcus, “How did you come to be here, doing this?”  
  
Marcus looked at him a long time before he took a breath. He spoke much more haltingly than normal, with frequent pauses. “I was taken captive. I was injured and useless, but they found a use for me. I... They also captured one of my men, and threatened him; I submitted to their desires for his sake. It was useless. He died anyway from what they did to us, but ... we were there for a long time. My heart was full of revenge... Eventually I got away on a feasting night when their watch was slack.”  
  
Marcus looked very far away. “My heart is still full of revenge. But I found no honour in my return. When they found out what had been done to me, what I had been forced to do, my uncle was the only relative who would...who could take me in, here in Augustus's household.” He looked up at Esca again, challengingly, and Esca wondered if he acknowledged, somewhere in his Roman heart, the parallels with Esca's life and what he was making Esca do.  
  
“So here I am. I have a half life, and I do what I do. Since I hated all Britons for their role in my shame, I was able to do it, to spin out my revenge along with my life. But... I hated the citizens too for their spite of me.”  
  
Marcus half-smiled. “My revenge is stale now...”  
  
Esca mused on this as Marcus began his lesson for the day, not really paying attention at first to what Marcus was saying, just doing what he was told, lying down on his front, able to hide his thoughts with his face pressed sideways. He didn't want to feel sympathy for this Roman, and he certainly didn't want the Roman to see it.  
  
Gradually, he registered that his body was feeling pleasant, that Marcus's hands were kneading him, stroking Esca's body after the fashion of the bath slaves.  
  
Marcus had Esca turnover onto his back on the high bench. He stored away what the Roman had revealed to think about later, and pulled himself back into the present. Marcus was concentrating on the touches that aroused him, though without touching his genitals. Esca didn't need Mule now for this and found himself surrendering to the sensations, though his thoughts rebelled again as Marcus talked through what he would need to do to stimulate his guests, and how to listen to their bodies, demonstrating his words with Esca's own reactions.  
  
Esca's feet were particularly responsive to Marcus's touch. He moaned loudly when Marcus caressed his toes, squeezed them each firmly, and circled them with his fingers, pulling slowly off. “I wonder, could you come from this”, Marcus said, amused, regarding Esca's straining erection levitating from his stomach as Marcus twisted his hand warmly around the final big toe as he rubbed and squeezed, leaving Esca unfulfilled.  
  
He traded places with Esca, first lying on his front, and bid Esca perform the same practice on his own body. Esca tried to learn the Roman's secrets, but he was not so easy to interpret. Marcus turned over after a while, and seemed to enjoy the stroking and kneading, but Esca found he could not even make the Roman erect, though his own body was still aroused with their efforts. “Marcus, what am I doing wrong?”, he finally asked in frustration, realising that this was the first time he had used the man's name in an ordinary fashion.  
  
Marcus laughed.”Don't worry; I am perhaps not the best study for this. You are doing well, responding to my small indications of pleasure. For sex … I need something more”. He stood up and clasped Esca's shoulder reassuringly; Esca was struck by how it was the incongruous but genuine gesture of a friend.  
  
*  
  
The next day Marcus was more distracted when he came at their standard time.  
  
After some perfunctory checks on the state of Esca's piercings, Marcus, still clothed, moved behind him, one hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. “I will not touch you, here”, Marcus slid his hand down Esca's lower back and between his buttocks, placing his finger very lightly on Esca's anus, “until you have been taken. The Governor comes tomorrow. But I will help you to make it less painful by teaching you how to prepare yourself.”  
  
Esca's heart accelerated, and he berated himself again for falling into the trap of tolerating the status quo, not working hard enough for escape. Tomorrow might be a good chance – with the Governor's visit the villa's occupants might be distracted - and he needed to be ready, yet he had little idea of the villa, let alone the town and its surroundings.  
  
Marcus had Esca move over to the room with the lavatory and showed him the way to clean himself inside using the animal bladder, teaching him the muscles to use to hold the water and then release it, squatting over the latrine. “This means you don't need to starve or purge before sex”. A fleeting expression of pain crossed his face, which Esca might not have caught were he not concentrating carefully on Marcus; “We do not want you to waste away, and you are already too thin.”  
  
He smiled briefly at Esca, and then showed him a pot of sweet-smelling buttery substance, leading him back to the divan. “Now you are clean, you use this and your fingers to lubricate your passage. Use a lot and try to reach as far inside as you can, and see how many fingers you can accommodate; three should be sufficient for most men.” He considered; “There are things you could use to help push it inside, and to loosen you up; they can also give you pleasure. I will show you these, but you would find them too intrusive at present. Your own fingers are best.”  
  
Esca lay back on the draped couch, his upper body slightly raised on cushions, and took some of the butter from the pot as Marcus held it out for him. Marcus bent up Esca's legs and sat next to him below his feet. “Put some of the salve around your anus”, he said, and Esca reached his hand between his legs, stretching back to rub his fingers around his hole. Marcus watched, placing a hand on Esca's knee, helping him hold his legs apart.  
  
“Start with just one finger, press in just a little bit, and remember how to relax yourself”, Marcus instructed, holding out the pot again. Esca scooped some butter with his index finger and felt for his hole again. The opening felt sensitive after the enema, and he flinched. Marcus's voice had turned to its soothing tone. “Relax, breath out and push gently”, he encouraged, and Esca summoned Mule again to finish what he couldn't quite do himself, and pushed his finger inside. He felt the opening give way around his finger, slippery and tight, and the accompanying strong feeling of being breached. As he pushed his finger further in, he tried to relax in the way Marcus was instructing him, and felt the power of the wrong feeling give a little as well, letting him ease his finger right in. He took a longer breath, and that helped too as he let it out slowly.  
  
Marcus was saying soothing things, but he registered the command amongst them. “Now move your finger; get used to the feeling”. He did as instructed, and felt his body tightening at the overpowering sensation as he began to pull his finger out. He felt like everything in his body was going to leave him, a strong urge to let go, overwhelming him. Mule whimpered.  
  
Marcus was stroking his thigh. “Relax Esca”, he said.”Just concentrate on what it feels like, don't move for now. Try tightening up and relaxing around your finger, and keep breathing”. Mule complied, and the sensations settled down to something more manageable, and he started to move his finger, further out slowly, and then in again.  
  
After a while Marcus said, “Now use more salve, and try another finger”. Esca scooped more from the pot, and pressed two fingers to the entrance to his body and tried to push them in. He was panting rapidly again, and his body was resisting. Marcus was repeating his gentle instructions: to relax, to breath out, to push outwards, to imagine opening up. Esca slowed his breathing down, and found that it helped and he slowly forced his fingers inside. The burning feeling was powerful, and just seemed too much; hot and painful. Marcus kept talking and stroking his thigh, and then a finger was massaging around his hole, around Esca's fingers, setting up a rhythm for him. Mule was coping, with Marcus's help.  
  
Then Marcus was urging him to add another finger, praising his progress. Mule was ready to try again, and began to put three fingers, triangled together, into his entrance. Again, his body reacted, clenched firmly around the intrusion, and the pain ratcheted up. Mule gasped “Help me, Marcus”.  
  
Marcus stroked around Esca's anus, massaging the skin with the butter and trying to talk Esca into trying again. “Come on Esca; one more small finger. It will really help you to have done this now, and you can prepare like this tomorrow”. Esca tried again to put the three fingers into his body, but stopped as he got just the fingertips inside. “Please Marcus”, he said, “I can't do this to myself, not yet. Please; you know what you're doing, you've done it before. Please help me, do it for me, or alongside my fingers”.  
  
“I can't”. Marcus's voice was shaky. “I wish I could help you as you wish, but I can only show you what needs to be done by you yourself. I cannot touch you yet; your virginity is for another's gift”.  
  
Mule's voice was pleading now, looking straight at Marcus; “I am not a virgin by my own people's ways – I have already been used sexually; my virginity is gone so you take nothing from me but pain and humiliation”. He kept eye contact with the Roman, watching the visible effect his heartfelt entreaty had on the other man, half amazed that he could talk like this to him and not be dismissed as merely a slave with no feelings to consider and no voice to appeal. “Please help me to prepare”, he almost whispered.  
  
Marcus looked torn. Esca could see that his sympathy was aroused, but he was saying: “My gods will not allow me; you will be offered as a gift, and if it were a lie, it would be dishonourable”.  
  
Esca marvelled at Marcus's stubbornness, and then he had a sudden moment of clarity.  
  
“Offer me now to your gods”, said Esca. “And I will give what you prize, willingly. Then it will be a gift freely given, and more honourable in your gods' eyes.” He paused, looking at Marcus directly and calmly. “Your Governor too will receive what he desires; an inexperienced man to share his bed. I will make sure that not he, nor anyone else, has any idea the gods' gift precedes them”.  
  
Marcus still hesitated, and Esca cast about in his mind desperate for a further argument. Remembering the conversation of the previous day, he started, “I trust you”. As he said it he knew it to be true. “I wish you to be the one who first does this to me.” He grasped at Marcus's hand, holding it firmly. “I trust you to be careful in the deed. I am sure that anyone in this situation would want the first time to be with someone they trusted - to treat them well and care for them after.” He paused and made eye contact again, feeling how his words wove around them both, tying them together. “You can do this for me Marcus, and only you will do it honourably. Give my virginity to your gods, and look out for me as you have always done.”  
  
Marcus's face was earnest and open now, even kind. “Yes”, he agreed simply. “I will do this for you, in honour of my own past. The gods will not be cheated, and that is the important part.” He sat back on the couch and looked around for his tunic. “I will return later.” He found the tunic and put it over his head. “I will go now to prepare myself and to dedicate you”. He looked at Esca pensively, and then walked to the door. “I may be some time – there are many chores preceding the Governor's visit.” He smiled slightly sadly, and dropped his eyes as he left.  
  
Esca lay back and stared at the ceiling. He thought to himself how strange, how ironic that he was trying to persuade, nay, begging a Roman to fuck him.  
  
He hoped his own gods had a plan for him where this made sense.  
  
*  
  
When Marcus came back, Esca found himself nervous. Part of him was amused by his own behaviour: were it not for his imprisonment and slavery he might imagine himself a blushing maiden with her first lover. Marcus too seemed on edge, dropping his eyes when their gazes made contact. However, he quickly came over to Esca and led him back to the divan. “I have dedicated you,” he said, “and cleansed myself”. He arranged Esca back on the couch, legs apart, and took up the pot of salve again. “I would wish to take longer for this; to help you and to satisfy the gods, but I am needed elsewhere and must be fast”.  
  
Marcus suddenly paused for a moment, put down the salve and clasped Esca's hands in his own, pulling him up to a sittting position. Esca was bemused. Marcus waited a beat, eyes downcast and then said, “For the gods”, reverently. Then he lay Esca back again.  
  
Esca watched Marcus as he dipped his finger in the butter and touched it to Esca's hole, still greasy from before. Marcus resumed his litany of soothing words and instructions. He slid one finger slowly inside Esca; “Let go, breath out”. The first finger went in easily, but Esca was still very aware of the intrusion, staring at Marcus. Marcus looked up and held his eyes for a moment, as he slowly moved his finger in and out. Esca felt another movement as Marcus altered his hand; his thumb was touching the piercing in his perineum, massaging and twisting and pressing, and the feeling was strange; distracting and not unpleasant. He felt the second finger as Marcus gently pushed it in; his breathing rate increased and he tried to relax around Marcus, imagining himself open, and then Marcus was also playing with his balls with his other hand. This time the sensations were overloading him and he reached for Mule to take over; Mule could allow this strong stretching feeling as Marcus persisted.  
  
As he got used to the feeling, his breathing rate slowed and then he felt Marcus altering something, no longer stroking his balls. He felt the rather painful hot stretching again, Marcus still talking to him, and he looked down; all he could see was Marcus's still wrist, but his other hand, slippery with salve, was taking his penis and doing soft upward strokes, one after another. Esca watched, mesmerized, as his cock stiffened, despite the pain, and Marcus's strokes became longer.  
  
Marcus began moving his fingers inside Esca again, and he clenched involuntarily. A wave of pain went through him and he moaned, fighting the urge to get away from this feeling. Marcus stilled again, and paid more attention to his cock, changing to downward strokes, and then leant forwards and put his lips around Esca, as he'd shown him before, when Esca had guessed it was far from his favourite activity. This time, he held Esca's cock-head willingly in his mouth; Mule responded strongly, tightening up momentarily but then relaxing his muscles around Marcus's fingers, arching upwards instead, pushing his cock up into Marcus's mouth.  
  
Marcus moved his fingers in whilst he tongued the crown and slipped his lips over the ridge, stimulating the area around the gold rings. Mule felt the contrast between the intense pressure in his arse, and the soft warm suckling keeping his cock interested, sharpening into pleasure as Marcus used his other hand to hold his shaft, working it up and down. He concentrated on relaxing his inner muscles, letting Marcus move inside him more easily, but the increasing pleasure of his cock made him tighten up again.  
  
He cycled through relaxing and clenching, and gradually realised that Marcus's fingers were not hurting him any more as they pushed in and out. The feeling was still intense, but not painful.  
  
Esca raised up on his elbows and looked down his body; watching the Roman's dark head where it hid his groin from view. Marcus, sensing his movements, leant back and looked up, lips firmly around his cock, still fisting it. They stared at each other for a moment, before Marcus pulled his lips slowly up and off his cock.  
  
“That's good”, Marcus said, twisting his fingers inside and out; matching both hands in rhythm; up and down, in and out. Esca could feel himself stiffening, body preparing for orgasm, but Marcus was telling him to relax, let go. He tried, lying back down, but then Marcus leant forwards to suck him into his mouth again, and the additional stimulation made Esca writhe, but it still wasn't quite enough, and he found himself throwing an arm down to Marcus's head, tangling fingers in his hair as he arched his body upwards into Marcus's mouth, harder and harder, and then thought he heard Marcus moan as he came, stilling, and thrusting once more.  
  
He became conscious of the fingers still inside him, suddenly aware of their respective positions, and quickly removed his hand, worried that he'd overstepped some barrier. Marcus was still sucking him, holding him gently.  
  
Marcus pulled away from his cock then and looked up; eyes dark and expression unreadable. He pulled his fingers away, and Mule whimpered. Marcus told him brusquely to turn over and get on his hands and knees, and as Esca complied, he moved behind him, angling his hips up with one hand and pushing his other fingers back inside. Esca gasped.  
  
“It will be easier like this for you” Marcus was saying, recovering himself and slowly removing his fingers.  
  
The feeling as Marcus pushed his cock inside him was electric, poised between pain and pleasure. Marcus's penis had a wide girth, but it wasn't broader than the fingers that had been inside him moments before; a slightly softer, less acute feeling. Marcus was careful, but not slow, and Esca felt the relentless slow glide as he was filled, unable to move, knees wide on the couch and the Roman's thighs pressed hotly against his own.  
  
Marcus was on his knees behind him, and was using both hands on Esca's hips to move a tiny bit in and out of him. He felt full, speared on Marcus's cock; it wasn't painful thanks to their preparation, but nor was it pleasant physically; he couldn't imagine that anyone would wish for this - as Marcus had told him they did.  
  
He heard Marcus's breath rising upwards, and then the feelings intensified as Marcus moved more. Mule tried to relax and breath, but Marcus's panting was contagious. He felt the man behind him shifting his weight and then Marcus was draped over his back, his heavy weight forcing Esca's arms to give out, making them both fall forward onto the couch. “Sorry”, said Marcus after he'd pulled up a bit from where he'd landed with Esca square underneath him, “my knee can't take it”. He pulled out of Esca and rolled them both over, sitting Esca on top of him. “You can control it this way”, he said as he held his cock upright beneath Esca's body, and eased him down.  
  
Mule took in the sensations, and practised moving, up and down, circles, and squeezing around Marcus's cock, at which Marcus moaned. When he did it again, Marcus moved rapidly and seized Esca and pulled him, hard, down onto his chest whilst pushing Esca's hips up and pulling his cock out abruptly. Esca was puzzled for a second until the sudden feeling of warm then cold wetness on his buttocks and lower back as Marcus groaned, his hand stilling beneath Esca's body.  
  
*

  
Marcus had made him take half a dose as they dressed him this time, again in white bands. This time he wore two, a set with elaborate long fringes. The first went around the front of his neck, crossing between his shoulder blades and coming together in the front over his breast to be tied in an intricate series of knots from where the tassles fell, hanging down in front. The second, a little wider, started at his navel, went down over his groin and in loincloth style came through his legs and up his backside to his waist, where it was twisted and wound right round him to meet itself and be tied at the back. Both front and back had a waterfall of fringing from the waist, and there were further narrow white ribbons at his wrists and ankles.  
  
Marcus seemed nervous and supervised the face painting closely, making Elisha do it again when he wasn't happy. Esca felt like the lamb sacrificed for Spring as he was led to the feasting room, dark-eyed but compliant.  
  
Again, he didn't take in much of the rituals of the event, but soon enough he was placed on a couch next to a tall distinguished man who looked at him hungrily, and it seemed to Mule that no time passed before the man was lying pressed against him, the handful of tassels hauling him forwards to be kissed. He registered the taste of garlic and strong wine, as one leg was lifted up on top of the man's; long fingers pulling aside the cloth between his legs and gripping one freed buttock; words passing that he didn't try to grasp. Too soon also, he could feel the man's wet cockhead pressed against him, an awkward angle that he tried to ease as the soft-hard feeling pushed him open, pain registering as he whimpered and tried to remember the way to relax through this; Marcus had bade him practice. The man was crooning to him, stroking his side and sliding into him again and again, murmuring something about too fast, too beautiful. The butter was working, and the pain lessened, and the man rolled them so that Esca was above him, holding on to Esca's hips and slowly fucking up into him. Mule looked into the man's eyes and placed his hands on the man's still-toga-clad chest, leaning forwards and angling his hips as the man rutted harder, gasping, and gave a final jerk, pushing hard up into Esca's body. The man pulled him down on top of him and kissed him hard, then held him there, breathing rapidly.  
  
Mule didn't think, just endured; that was Mule's talent.  
  
Later – Esca must have slept - the man pulled him along a corridor, led by another slave, into a large bedchamber. Esca was dimly aware of uniforms at various points, and tried to keep in mind where they had been. The man tumbled Esca onto the bed, told him to get on his hands and knees, and almost instantly was behind him, stripping his lower half completely then feeling along his crack and touching the soreness, playing with the stickiness he found there. “My come is the first you've ever felt, they tell me. You don't disappoint, though I've had more responsive bed-partners”. Mule didn't react until a finger probed him, and then he moaned; the man interpreted it as desire and thrust another finger inside him, then pulled them out and smeared the product around Esca's anus. “Gods, you are gorgeous”. Mule could feel the blunt warmth of his penis again, pressing at the sore hole, and then the pain came again as he was forced. “So tight”, the man murmured, circling his hips and pushing forwards. When it felt like no more could possibly fit inside him, Esca felt the man ease back and start to pump. It felt raw, and he kept holding his breath to control his reaction to the pain, and then remembering what Marcus had taught him and trying to breath again, letting his muscles go and moving with the invader. That definitely helped, but the man interpreted his movements as invitation, and moved faster and harder. His moans got louder, but he seemed to be getting too comfortable fucking Esca constantly; it went on and on. The second time was not going to be quick - the man had more stamina and less sensation. Mule was just managing to cope with the feelings, but the poppy's veil was wearing thin. Something inspired Mule to drop his head and arms down, changing the angle; the man liked that and started to move much faster, his words and moans increasing until he grasped Esca's hips firmly and shuddered into him.  
  
The man dropped to the side and Esca collapsed onto the bed, sprawling.  
  
When he woke later, he felt clearer-headed. All was dark and quiet in the room, one small oil-lamp flickering beneath the window shutters. Esca cautiously lifted his head and looked for his companion. The man was asleep, his breathing faint. Esca moved slowly, getting to his feet and noticing the pain in his backside, the twisted up tassels round his chest, a headache dull between his ears. He knew he hadn't properly planned for this, but he also knew, following his rape, that he had to take this chance to get away whilst the house slept. He pulled off the remaining band and used it to wipe himself.  
  
He needed clothing and shoes. He scoured the room, tiptoeing around in the darkness. Surely this distinguished Roman had more clothes to his name, even when travelling - but where would he keep them? He noticed a wooden box against the wall, near the light, and went across, trying to pull the lid up and looking for a fastening as he found he couldn't. It appeared to have a fancy clasp; he poked and prodded and realised it needed a key to operate. He had a memory of a key on a cord around the man's neck and swore silently. He went slowly round the room, hoping for other options, but found nothing, so approached the bed.  
  
The man was on his side, huddled over. Esca leant closer, peering into the gloom to try to see if he still wore the neck-cord. There was something there, dark against his neck. Esca put out a tentative hand and gently took hold of it, slowly pulling to gain some slack. His heart was pounding in his ears as he tried to work the string loose or find an end. If only he had a knife; though if he had a knife this man would be bleeding in a sorry heap by now.  
  
There wasn't much slack, and he started to ease the cord over the man's chin, watching him intently in the half-light. Suddenly, the man's eyes opened, looking right at him. Esca thought his heart would leave his chest. He forced himself to smile, pressing his hands to the man's shoulders. The man smiled groggily. “Dear boy,” he said as he reached a hand and stroked Esca's face, pulling him down for a kiss. Esca let himself be pulled closer, tucked in to the man's body as the Roman kissed and stroked him, trying to kiss back the way they liked it. Esca sought the Mule inside him, but the Mule would not appear. His thoughts were wild as the man began to stroke his buttocks. He had a sudden brainwave. “I am cold”, he said. “Have you a tunic I can wear whilst we … ?” The man frowned, and said, “We can love under the covers if you're cold, sweet boy”, throwing the covers over them.  
  
“I would ride you again”, Esca said, huskily, looking up at the man through his lashes and sitting up, running his hand down the man's abdomen and taking hold of his stiffening cock. He flung a leg over and raised up on his knees, licking his lips and massaging the man, then shivering theatrically. The man smiled at him. “Insatiable, like all your kind”, he said, but climbed out of bed and went over to the chest Esca had guessed contained clothes. Esca tried to relax his hands where they were clenched into his thighs, and fought down the anger that welled up inside him.  
  
The man took his key and unlocked it, rummaging for a second and pulling out a dark bundle. He was about to lock it shut when Esca said, “Leave it open and I will return the clothes when we are done”. The man hesitated, but then turned around and came to give Esca the bundle which he opened to reveal a long tunic made for a bigger man. Never mind; it would do; he quickly put it on. “Come here”, said Esca, pulling the man by the hand back in to the bed, then stroking his penis as he might stroke his own.  
  
*  
  
He had had to wait for the man to sleep again. His orgasm had been mercifully quick, almost as soon as Esca slid down on to him, but afterwards instead of sleeping he had persistently stroked Esca's body, pushing the tunic up and playing with the come at his hole and attempting to play with his cock, twisting the rings around in his foreskin. Esca had made up something about it not being permitted, and tried to distract him with more kisses. Eventually, after an age where Esca worried he'd been too convincing and the man was getting aroused again, soft snores arrived.  
  
Esca gently disentangled himself and went straight to the chest, digging through quietly to see if there were any shoes. He found a pair and put them on, lacing them as tight as possible against the too-big size. The dark tunic was good for hiding, but so big that he might trip in it – he found a belt of sorts and fastened it tighter, blousing it over at his waist. Then he turned and crept out of the room.  
  
The hallway seemed clear, but he had no idea where he was. As he walked past a window, he had a vision of the Eagle soaring; it might be easier to get his bearings on the roof, and not have to get past any guards. He thanked the Eagle for the inspiration and quickly climbed out of the window and up on to the roof tiles, treading very carefully and giving more thanks for the shoes. There was a dim glow in the sky from a half-moon, and he could pick his way around the quadrangles. Eventually though, he ran out of roof and didn't think he'd seen the outside wall yet. He cursed internally, and prepared to jump down, to take a chance on climbing over another wall. He just couldn't see enough to know whether this was the best place.  
  
He dropped to the ground, a scraping noise sounding from where he knocked against a large potted plant as he landed, and he froze, listening. It still seemed all quiet.  
  
He crossed the space, hugging the darkness and saw there were rooms on the opposite side, in a separate building. Time to go up again. He looked for a likely place, and put his foot on a sill, the other on a handy jutting stone in the wall, and was stretching to boost himself higher when he felt a strong hand grab around his ankle, and pull.  
  
*  
His head hit something hard as he was yanked down through the window-frame and he fell awkwardly, winded. As he felt a body try to pin him he kicked out hard with his heel and felt it connect with something soft. A man's voice grunted and then swore.  
  
Marcus. Shit. Marcus was big and trained, and didn't have a trailing tunic and a need to be silent. Still, fighting for your life can even up the odds, and Esca laid into him as much as he was able, landing one or two heavy blows.  
  
Finally though, he was pinned face down, with Marcus agonisingly kneeling in his back and saying, “You little shit, where is your honour?”  
  
Esca turned his head aside and said, breathing with difficulty, “Honour. I hate you and your Roman honour. It is meaningless to me”.  
  
Marcus pulled his head up by his hair and slammed it down onto the floor. “I treated you well. You are a slave yet I tried to give you aid”.  
  
Esca snarled. “You keep me in a cell and let men rape me for their pleasure. I am a prisoner of war and it is my duty to my people to escape from you. You know this for you have done it too.”  
  
“I know that your people are dead and you belong to Augustus now and will never escape from here”. Marcus had his hands bound now and was hauling him to his feet.  
  
“My people were killed by murderous soldiers like you, and you'd better kill me now if you think I won't try to escape again”.  
  
“The first penalty for trying to steal Augustus's property is castration”. Marcus pulled him out of his door and along a corridor. “We will see tomorrow if that cools your desire to escape. You might also lose your teeth and nails – that will compromise your ability to fight, though it would be a pity to destroy your looks; you are quite the sought-after property at the moment”.  
  
Esca hissed, “Take from me what you can Roman, but I will not give you anything willingly”.  
  
Marcus said no more until they got to Esca's door. Marcus untied his hands and told him to take off the tunic and the shoes. Esca flung them at him and stood until he heard the key turn. He was proud that he'd tracked their direction and now knew the way to Marcus's room. One step forward.  
  
*  
  
It was two days later; two days of Marcus looking thunderous and barely speaking to him when he came to him to bring food; two days of still being held on his own.  
  
It became apparent that Marcus had not alerted anyone else to the circumstances of his capture. Esca had no doubt that he would now be punished or even dead if Augustus or old Aquila had been told. What Marcus had told them, gods only knew, but no-one else, not even Greyda, had set foot in the room since. Perhaps he was waiting for the bruises to fade. But yesterday evening, Marcus had softened his approach and was finally talking to him. A halting start; Esca had not thought it prudent to remind him about the threat of castration. In fact, their conversation had quickly become more intimate, as if they were both relieved to be on terms again.  
  
Today, Marcus had shown him techniques for maintaining an erection, and it was as if the incident had not occurred. But Esca was wary. Too much had been said between them for his befriending tactic to work now. Yet, here they were, talking.  
  
Marcus had told him again of his own enslavement; Esca was thinking that this was either a dangerous or a cruel topic for the man to discuss with him. But now, the conversation was taking a strange turn. Marcus was saying, “And I find you more full of honour and dignity than many a free man, despite what you have endured. You reminded me of …”, he paused, swallowing. Esca wasn't sure if he'd go on, but eventually he did. “You remind me of myself. You reminded me of another … and one to whom I owe a debt for my own return.” He paused again.  
Esca waited, and then said, “Was he a Briton?”  
Marcus looked up, and then looked off to the side, far away. “She. She was a Briton.” He shook his head, and his voice when he spoke again was firmer. “I am now in possession of an inheritance, and need not stay here. I have thought to go away; I have traded for land far from here in Spain where my reputation is unknown, and I can live with more peace of mind.” He cocked his head slightly, looking at Esca. “I have thought on it, and I would take you with me, though it may be foolish. I wish to give you the chance I lacked, to win back your own honour in freedom.”  
  
Esca stared back, amazed.  
  
His gut ached for Marcus's offer, and for his story – the unsaid details that he filled in for himself, the clear loss and longing in Marcus's voice leading to its own conclusions - but he could not take it all at face value, or yet work through the consequences. He felt dazed, but the Roman seemed to be genuine.  
After a while trying to collect his thoughts - the thoughts on other escape plans he had given more attention to in the last two bitter days - he nodded. He asked, “How will you take me away from here?”  
Marcus looked thoughtful. “I have an idea. But you tried to escape. What have you thought on the problem?”  
Esca half-wondered if this was some plan to find out what he was thinking. But something in the Roman's approach seemed too earnest, so he decided to share some of his thoughts. “I have two problems”, he said. “The first is how I get away from here when in one trumpet call the whole town will be looking out. The second is the one I have not cared to face myself before now: what do I do afterwards? I am a slave, captured from a slaughtered clan; there is no-one left to return to, even should I get there, and I have no other relations or connections this far south, and no money nor credentials to win myself a post as a labourer or suchlike. I will not have papers to prove my freedom.” He glanced down at himself then and gave a short laugh; “I do not even have clothes”.  
The hollowness of his position became clearer the more he spoke it. Before, he had just thought to get away, and hang the consequences. He would have run and stolen as far as he could, and only thought to go north again, on and on, until all Romans were behind him.  
Marcus shifted on the divan. “I leave in a week”. He looked Esca in the eye. “Behave until then, and do what you must, but … do not draw attention. And eat well”. He gave a small smile, and stood up to leave. “I will think on the problem”.  
*  
  
Another soiree. But this time Esca was dressed in blue and had no protection from the hands of his masters. He had done as Marcus suggested and taken a half dose of the drug whilst he cleaned himself, and it was sufficient to give him a measure of distance from the proceedings. He hoped it wouldn't also loosen his tongue. This time the cloths were more revealing: in a zig-zag the bands, matching the colour etched in his skin and echoing his eyes, wound round one side of his neck over his back and front under the opposite arm. They crossed there - some decorative knots over his pectoral muscle drawing attention to his tattoos - and then passed to his waist, crossing again at the side of his body, then running down to meet between his legs, leaving most of his abdomen and one buttock totally uncovered and the covering over his cock precarious. His body had been shaved again, but they had let his hair alone, longer now. He had summoned Mule, and submitted when they sewed him in and painted him up.  
  
The man was also smooth-skinned in the Roman style and quite young, reminding him uncomfortably of the first man who had pushed him to his knees. This one was a little more considerate; he studied Esca's face; Mule cast his eyes down and then coyly glanced up. The man laughed, and took his face in hand, holding him as he kissed him quite gently; hands moving to run over his chest and under the band. Feeling the gold in his nipples, the man paused to reveal the second stud, and manipulated them a little, one in each hand. Mule felt his cock fill and he swayed forwards, and the man laughed a little again. “You like that, pretty one”, he said, running one hand down Esca's belly and under the band over his groin, slipping past his penis and taking a handful of his balls and just holding as he kissed Esca again. Eventually, he pulled back and turned Esca around, pulling the band aside over his buttocks and bending Esca forwards, running a light finger down his crack. At his hole he paused and touched his finger on it, gently pressing, saying “Will you let me make love to you, pretty one?”, slowly pushing his finger inside. Esca had a moment of confusion at the words; from his own stringent analysis of what was taking place, making love was not a description he would have come up with. But for some reason this Roman had illusions to maintain. Or perhaps he really had not known love and considered this to be it; he was young enough for that to be so. In any case, it was not in Esca's gift to refuse, and Mule was whimpering, inviting him with his body.  
  
The first pressure after the man arranged himself was hard to take, and even Mule stuttered over it, legs weakening and body tightening forwards, even as he repeated to himself Marcus's litany, making himself relax.  
  
“Shush. Let me love you”, the man was saying, pushing further inside him, hands holding him at his hips, half pulling his buttocks apart and half pulling him back onto the man's cock. Mule put his hands out feeling for the support of furniture, grounding, as the man began to rock against him, the feeling deep inside him sharp and painful but remote, as were the tears in his eyes. One hand came to play with his nipple again, slowly running round and around, and as the passage of the man's cock eased, the man's other hand slid under the fabric at Esca's groin, seeking his cock. When the man found it, softened, he paused for a moment, and pulled Esca's cock free of the band and started to fist it. Gradually Mule responded to the stimulation, and was soon undulating, feeling the pleasure of hand on cock intensify as the man, surprisingly, licked his neck. Esca blinked then, a sudden image of Marcus right there, sucking his neck and gently stroking him overlaying his current view. He glanced over the opposite shoulder and had an impression of Marcus, near at hand, watching him. Surprised, he twisted to look again, but he was just seeing shadows. He willed the visions away and returned to Mule in the present, and allowed his body to take what it could from this.  
  
*  
  
Marcus spoke to the innkeeper. “The lady does not wish it to be known that she had a visitor”. Coins changed hands. “And arrange for her to have breakfast in her room and then be accompanied to the staging post tomorrow morning at first light. One can never take too many precautions in this part of town”. He smiled at the large man who agreed unctuously, bemoaning the state of the world whilst showing them into a modest room with one bed. “Would you like anything sending up?”, he enquired of Marcus, who ordered watered wine and dismissed him. He left, pulling the thick curtain closed behind them.  
  
“Are you alright?” Marcus asked, quietly.  
  
“Yes”, Esca replied, slumping onto the bed, then throwing himself backwards; “Though I'm surprised they cannot hear my heart beat clean through the walls”.  
  
Marcus smiled grimly at him. “Me too”. His expression sobered. “I must get back soon. I will meet you at the staging post tomorrow morning. Don't talk to anyone unless absolutely necessary”, he smiled more freely; “it is entirely within keeping to ignore people if you are a virtuous woman; keep your eyes cast down and say as little as possible”.  
  
“Like a slave?” said Esca, staring at Marcus provocatively.  
  
Marcus paused, his smile fading, and then answered, “Yes, my lady, much like a slave. … Later tomorrow we will have to pretend to be husband and wife, to preserve you from unwanted attention.” He looked at Esca, and at the shawl thrown back. “You do not look much like a virtuous woman ... which is fine for tonight”, he said thoughtfully. “Put the scarf over your hair, before he comes back with the wine, and come and sit in my lap – it will be safer if he thinks we are going to be busy and doesn't linger”.  
  
Esca frowned at him, and was about to refuse but at the sound of footsteps on the stairs he went over to Marcus and sat sideways on his thighs. Marcus grimaced and took hold of him, bodily moving him so that his weight was on Marcus's left thigh, as Esca pulled the palla over his head. He raised his eyes and caught Marcus's, very close. Marcus said quietly, “We will have to think of a woman's name for you, something that sounds like your name to cover slips and for you to recognise. What about ... Extricata?” Esca opened his mouth to speak but stilled as Marcus put a finger on his lips.  
  
Marcus answered the knock on the frame of the doorway, and a large young woman came in with a jug and beakers, nodding to Marcus as she put them on the small table. “Is there anything else you need tonight sir? I will bring water for washing in the morning”, she said, eyes down as Esca risked a glance at her. Marcus made a show of holding Esca to him and said, “Very good. No nothing else; please ensure we are not disturbed. That will be all”, and she nodded and left.  
  
Esca stood up and Marcus poured wine into two beakers, passing him one. “To our joint venture, Extricata”, he said, and Esca raised an eyebrow and his glass too, saying “Gods protect us”.  
  
“I hope that you will be safe tonight. It is … unfortunate that you are quite so distinctive. I can only imagine what dangers might befall a beautiful woman travelling alone – I noticed several gazes linger on you in the short time we've been out together - but most of those who saw us will assume you are with me and that I am here with you”. Marcus put down his cup and moved to the doorway, looking out to see if it was quiet, and then back in at Esca.  
  
“I will be fine Marcus. I am not a woman, and there is little that can be done to me that I have not already survived.” Esca held Marcus's gaze, and then drank again.  
  
“Even so, I wish I did not have to go back, but it is my last night at Augustus's villa, and there is to be leave-taking. I must go now; they will be missing me even if they think I am enjoying my final opportunity to indulge myself”. He looked at Esca before letting the curtain fall.  
  
*  
  
Esca found it hard to sleep in these surroundings, made harder by sleeping in clothes and especially by having to keep a scarf round his head to hide his lack of hair. His thoughts raced, questioning his plan and Marcus's motives; wondering if he should just take off on his own before morning. But he knew that Greyda's stories of the grisly fates of escaped slaves were based in truth and that he had little chance of survival on his own. He must proceed with the Roman; once out of the country they could separate, giving him a greater chance of starting a life anew, in exile.  
  
He dozed fitfully and dreamed of the Eagle, a half-dream filled with disconnected images of sea-cliffs and high shrieking calls.  
  
*

The young woman wakes him early with water and rather stale bread, and says that the man to take “my lady” to the staging post is ready whenever she wishes to go. Esca feels curiously disconnected from his body as waits for the girl to leave, and then quickly gets up and gets his things together. At least women's clothing is very concealing; a tunic showing his tattoos would reveal his identity in an instant: much less reason for a man to wear a cloak in the late spring than for a matron to hide herself for modesty. He hopes his stubble is not conspicuous – it feels gritty, but if he veils himself sufficiently with the clothes Marcus gave him it should be invisible. As he leaves the room with a small bundle (for no woman would travel with no belongings), he remembers to walk more daintily and hunches over, hiding his face and making himself smaller. Even so, he is tall for a woman.  
  
The man is leaning against a corner of the yard when he emerges, the dawn lightening the sky. He looks Esca up and down, and Esca fights to keep his eyes down, nearly stumbling when the man tries to take the bundle from him. He recovers quickly, and whispers his thanks, wondering what an imperious Roman woman would say or do. The walk through the awakening town is uncomfortable as the sky gets lighter; Esca realises how much life goes on in this Roman world, and he hopes that none of it notices him.  
  
Eventually they reach an even more disreputable-looking Inn, and the man gives him the pack back, leaving him standing outside, muttering as he leaves. Esca has picked up a very little of the local language, and he gathers that the man was expecting a tip, but he has no money whatsoever. That makes him realise how entirely dependent he is on his saviour, and it occurs to him to wonder if Roman women have their own purses. He will ask Marcus - when he finds him. He briefly looks in the yard but there is no large Roman there, and he is beginning to feel quite conspicuous. His heart starts hammering again when the Inn door opens and a woman comes out, looking directly at him, and then around him as if expecting there to be someone else, chaperoning him perhaps. “Can I help you?” she says in what manages to be both an ingratiating but also a challenging tone. Esca takes a breath, looking round himself too as if between them they can will Marcus from the air, and says, “I await Marcus Flavius Aquila; he is to accompany me”.  
  
The woman becomes more friendly, and ushers him inside and to a kind of booth where she gestures for him to sit. “Please wait in here. I will bring you refreshments”, and bustles out of the room into the back of the building.  
  
Esca drinks the sour wine she brings, mixed with water, noticing as other people, mostly men, arrive at the Inn - on business but also travellers, who sit at other booths - and wonders what he will do if Marcus fails to turn up. He is one step freer than he was before, and he has clothes, even if they are women's - which in some ways hide and protect him, and in others make him stand out more, especially alone, especially when he doesn't know what a Roman woman - really what any woman - would do.  
  
His relief is enormous when Marcus eventually strides in, dark eyes seeking him out and smiling when they alight on him in the dimness of the room. Marcus is obviously aware of the other people around, and comes over, extending his hands to take Esca's, saying quite loudly for their possible audience's ears, “Extricata, I am sorry to keep you waiting, there was some trouble at the villa”. He sat down next to Esca, who said more quietly, “All is well I hope?” Marcus grimaced, also quieting: “A runaway slave it seems in all the revelry last night, and I knew him best, so I needed to brief the guard”. Esca tried to school his features to calmness; they had hoped that his escape would not be noticed for another day, giving more cover to the way Marcus had blatantly smuggled him out under the noses of everyone whilst giving instructions that Esca “the troublesome Briton” was to be deprived of food for a day for his insubordination so that no-one would need to visit his room. Marcus looked fairly calm though, and squeezed his hands, which he seemed still to have hold of. Esca squeezed back to say that he was alright.  
  
Marcus looked around. “I will go and see about the carriage”. He stood up, and Esca felt bereft for a moment.  
  
*  
  
They are being driven by a surly man with piercing pale blue eyes, who has used those eyes to look at Esca as if to say “and she's no better than she ought to be”. Marcus has played his part well, being solicitous, but not too familiar. They cannot pretend to be married yet, as the driver may yet be questioned about a runaway, and Marcus's name in connection with a wife no-one knows of could be a potent clue. But Marcus's name connected with a possible mistress – well, that would be entirely in character for a whore-trainer, even if the woman in question was slightly mysterious.  
  
Esca is not sure that he is as good in his part; he is too nervous, now, on the cusp of freedom, and he is entirely outwith his knowledge; he knows little of these urbanized Britons and their fat lives, nothing of their womenfolk, and what he knows of Romans is mostly of their bedroom predilections, which he would rather he knew less about. Marcus is his one point of reference, and that makes him more nervous, and the occasional touching and teasing that Marcus does for show makes him breath faster in ways he entirely puts down to fear.  
  
Marcus is spending some of his inheritance on this trip, a private carriage, using the pretext of his leg-injury as to why he cannot ride himself to the sea-port, but Esca wonders how such a journey would tax him if alone, and ponders again why Marcus would do this for him; what he wants in return.  
  
They reach the waypoint whilst it is still light, and prepare to spend the night at the small Inn nearby. The driver will also stay, and take them to the river in the morning, where they will take a barge down to the port. Marcus arranges all with the innkeeper, and again he and Esca are shown to a modest room with one bed, and they have food brought up to them so that Esca might undress and eat in comfort. After they have eaten, Marcus instructs him to put on the shawl again and calls for hot water and cloths, a real luxury out here with no baths nearby. He has gear for shaving in his packs, and Esca blinks as he lays together various pieces, including a sharp-looking blade and leather strap.  
  
A young woman brings hot water, and Esca thinks that all innkeepers must have daughters who look like them to serve in the family business. Marcus looks at Esca after the young woman departs, and smiles, saying, “Do you trust me?” He flourishes the knife, sharpening it on the leather, and instructs Esca to wet and soap his face and neck and sit on the stool.  
  
Esca feels the Roman stand behind him, firmly taking hold of his head, angling it as the blade begins to scrape up his neck, and suddenly he is assaulted by an image of his mother, dying at his father's hands. He reaches up and holds Marcus's wrist, stilling him. “A moment”, he says, blinking. Marcus misunderstands him, pulling his arm out of Esca's grasp, and comes to stand in front of him, brows darkened, saying “If I wanted to slit your throat, I could have done so without all this trouble”.  
  
Esca looks at him, aware that his face is unguarded as he swallows, shaking his head. He cannot answer; he is unable to express what he feels in words; suddenly, for the first time, he is entirely overwhelmed with his loss; more acute now that he has a measure of hope for himself, and heightened by all the tension of the last night and day. He feels tears slide down his cheeks, and though he is sober he is not ashamed, for it truly is a great loss; not just for himself but for the gods, and for their future which has also been stolen.  
  
Marcus looks uncomfortable and conflicted. No doubt Romans do not cry; Romans do not need to cry, for they have inherited the world. But Marcus is stroking his cheek where the tears have tracked. Marcus is cradling his jaw, heedless of the lather, pulling him up to hold him close, sheltering him, and Esca gives in to the sobs that now rack him, allowing Marcus to stroke him as he vents his anguish.  
  
When he is done, he pulls away and looks at Marcus's face, full of concern. “Thank you”, he says, voice a bit broken. He moves away, over to the bowl of now-tepid water and splashes his face in it, rinsing. He feels a rising need to justify himself, though ironically Marcus, the Roman, hasn't asked him to. Perhaps Extricata is now taking him over in place of the eagle and the mule.  
  
He must hold onto himself in this. He says, bitterly, “My mother died like that; throat slit at my father's hand. She asked for her death; she knew what would happen should she fall into Roman hands”. It crosses his mind that he has endured his mother's fate; the gods also are full of irony.  
  
He risks a look at Marcus, who looks stricken. He sighs. “Come, shave me now”, he says, more gently. “I trust you, though I do not know why you do all this for me”. He has a glimmer of an idea though; Esca was not the only one whose feelings were on show just then. It feels strange, curious, to have someone care for him.  
  
In the night, he is surprised and slightly panicked to waken under the sleeping Roman's arm. His panic subsides once he realises who it is and he lies there, allowing the comfort of human contact to them both, though he struggles to return to sleep.  
  
*  
  
They are dropped off at the landing stage along with Marcus's packs, to find a farmer waiting with a large crate of geese and a number of sacks. Marcus makes a place for Esca to sit on one of his wooden chests and responds to the farmer's attempts to make conversation. He's asking, “Is your wife happy to be moving?”, and Esca hears the surprise in Marcus's voice as he has to improvise an answer. They have discussed a framework for their personas but obviously Marcus too is finding it hard to remember and perhaps also surprised that the ruse of Extricata is convincing others.  
  
Esca guesses they are both relieved when the barge appears, already carrying a couple of passengers, punting into the jetty. The boatsman athletically leaps off and starts stowing their goods after checking where they are headed, and he obviously knows the farmer, and trades greetings. With all the goods on board, the boatsman tells Marcus where to sit and they both turn to help Esca on board. Esca rolls his eyes at Marcus and the boatsman laughs at him, saying, “You can't win with women, eh? Either you don't help and you're an ignorant lout, or you try to help and you're doubting their abilities.” Marcus looks rueful, and says, “It seems I'm not winning today”, then sits beside Esca on a bench. Esca feels torn; he wants to play his part but is finding it difficult to know what to do except be passive, and his nerves are heightened so much he feels the need for action. They can't really talk; even if Esca is careful about his voice, small talk is probably beyond them both at present, and anything else can't take an audience.  
  
As they get underway again, moving fast with the current down-river, he can't help but fidget, until Marcus puts an arm around him and his hand on Esca's hands, leaning in close to gently say “Be still.” Esca looks at him sharply, trying to wriggle away and Marcus reassures him: “We're fine. You're doing well”. He smiles; “You are very convincing as a wife who is not entirely happy with where her husband is taking her”. With that, he drops his arm and pats Esca's hand, returning to gaze at the river bank on his side. Esca schools himself to keep still.  
  
Further down river they pull in twice to pick up a few more traders and travellers, and space is becoming restricted. Someone is seated next to Esca, and Marcus frowns when the man begins to try to talk to Extricata. Esca looks at him for advice on how to react, raising an eyebrow in question, and Marcus intervenes, cutting across, saying “My wife is very tired; I hope you will excuse her if she sleeps”. He again puts his arm around Esca and pulls him in to his body, and Esca goes along with it, putting his head on Marcus's collar, and watching the riverbank slip by.  
  
When he wakes he is disorientated and stiff. He soon jerks up as he realises where he is, and that he slept, but Marcus is whispering in his ear, holding him close, “Stay there, it will be easier to hide you from these others.” Esca keeps still, but he is uncomfortable and needs to stretch out. He whispers up to Marcus's ear, his lips at Marcus's jaw, “I need to move; I am stiff all over”. Marcus huffs a laugh, and pulls over the palla to hide more of his face, then lets him move. Esca says as he shifts and wriggles, “I am sorry I went to sleep. Are we making good progress?” He notices now the smell of the sea, and that the river is much wider here with buildings along the nearer bank. “Nearly there I think,” Marcus says.  
  
*  
  
He is sitting again on the dockside with Marcus's belongings as Marcus negotiates. He has never seen anywhere quite like this – any sea ports he has been to before have been small and home to small boats and fisherfolk. This place is astonishing and he yearns to explore. The passivity is killing him, but it is much the safest option.  
  
They are hoping for a passage direct to Spain – it is where Marcus wants to go and as good a place as any for Esca; northern Spain has people not unrelated to his own, and their languages are similar, according to Marcus; different from the Southern Britons that he found so hard to understand. They are also hoping for a ship with no other passengers so that their disguise is easier to maintain.  
  
Marcus has suggested that he come with him to his new farm, and then decide what he wants to do. Esca mulls on this, not sure if he can stay with someone who has done this to him; wondering if this would be fresh servitude, but also aware that he needs to find his keep and some to spare if he is to travel any distance, and that it will let him find his bearings in a foreign land. He tells Marcus he will wait until they reach the Spanish port to decide. Meanwhile, he must find a lavatory; another ordeal, as he has not the slightest idea how women go about this.  
  
*  
  
The cabin is small and poky, the bed a hammock. Marcus insists it was the only option that made any sense and says they can take turns sleeping on the floor amidst those of his bundles he has not trusted to the cargo holds. In any case, if the weather stays favourable it may take them only three days. Esca thinks that is just as well when their first meal is bread and some indeterminate dried meat; if that is all they can offer when they've just been in port he dreads to think what a longer voyage would bring. He is aware that he is being spoilt, and keeps his mouth closed, telling himself to be grateful for his life, and for this passage, no matter how uncomfortable.  
  
The captain has told Marcus that they should both stay off the deck and in their cabin if possible; the boat is full of livestock getting in the crew's way at every juncture, and he has already been heard ranting at one farmhand for not tethering up his sheep sufficiently.  
  
Esca wonders how they will pass the time, confined in this strange rolling world. He knows Marcus can beat him if it comes to a fight - the escape episode showed him that; even when he was desperate he was no match for the Roman. But, he has left the mule behind and made another choice. He will not have sex again without his consent if he has to die fighting. Marcus has shown no sign – yet - of wanting to extract this payment from Extricata, but Esca has seen the looks Marcus is giving him in unguarded moments. He remembers then what Marcus said about his own escape, and suddenly things fall into place about this Roman: he probably loved a Briton during his slavery, and perhaps she loved him too if she helped him; Esca reminded him of her, and now Esca is dressed as a woman and is probably even more like her than before. This is who Marcus craves. Presumably it is someone he cannot hope to have news of, ever. He feels a sudden stab of sympathy for Marcus and his lost love.  
  
They talk. Marcus lies in the hammock and Esca sits on the floor, and they feel the giddy sway of the ship. They talk about many things on the first day, and Marcus is a good listener. There are points of tension and they argue – Rome and its alleged benefits not subjects Esca feels neutral about – but the arguments are heartfelt rather than threatening. For the first time, Esca begins to feel himself again.  
  
Marcus keeps shifting and rubbing his thigh, and Esca offers to help. He stands and asks if Marcus has oils, and orders him out of his tunic; he notes that Marcus retains his loincloth. In the end, he gets the knack of moving with the ship as the hammock sways, and Marcus is impressed by his adapting so quickly to the sea. He tells Esca of the many tough soldiers he has seen taken apart by shorter voyages. Esca doesn't tell him of the Eagle, but he thinks that his own comfort is a legacy of his familiarity with the swooping dance of the bird-god, and his aerial dreams.  
  
The Roman's thigh muscles are stiff and unyielding at first, and Esca thinks that perhaps the carriage was not part of the ruse after all. He oils and massages him all over, freeing up the muscles and soothing his skin from the remains of their dusty travels, and Marcus makes noises of contentment and thanks him, slipping into sleep until the cabin boy disturbs them, bringing more food and swapping their slop pail; reminding Esca that he needs to be careful of his appearance even here. Luckily a cabin boy probably has no notions of how Roman women look or behave, so uncovered short hair will likely not register.  
  
Later, Esca needs at least a short release from the cabin, so they venture out on deck, squeezing through the sheep who are even here, to look over the horizon, beautiful in the dusk and empty all around. He takes the vision of that freeing emptiness, just big navy waves, into his dreams.  
  
*  
  
The next day is calm and he tells Marcus more stories, the tales from his childhood and the lives of his ancestors. In return, Marcus tells him the history of Rome, and about his own family. They are both clearly holding back the sadnesses that such stories bring up, but Esca finds it is in fact a joy to share after so much silence, and he senses the same feelings in Marcus.  
  
After the cabin boy has been in the aftenoon, Marcus offers to massage Esca, saying that he thinks it will be safe to remove his clothes. Esca is delighted to shed the garments, and takes everything off , lying face-up in the hammock. Marcus is not quite so stable as he was with the rocking of the boat, which feels bigger now that they are further out at sea, and after a few unsatisfactory attempts, he finally climbs into the hammock with Esca, and straddles him. Esca is reminded of their sexual activities, but again Marcus is showing no interest in him in that regard – perhaps his nakedness is a good reminder to the Roman that he is indeed a man, and not his beloved. After his body has been done all over, they take a turnabout, and when Esca gets off for more oil he realises the rocking is much worse than before. The packs are wedged into the cabin end, but the one he has opened is now skidding side to side across the floor. He repacks it, and climbs up beside Marcus. He manages to knead Marcus's thigh, but as he tries to do more of his body, the motion changes and the hammock is not just swaying side-to-side but a weird kind of front to back motion as well, changing their weight distribution and making it impossible to sit up. He gives up and lies down next to the Roman, apologising, and Marcus excuses him, but asks him to bring the empty pail nearer, as he is beginning to feel seasick. It is not long before Marcus is retching, leaning over the side of the hammock and clutching the pail, and Esca too feels the beginnings of nausea as the motion increases. They listen to the noise as the wind picks up, defeating the blaring bleat of the frightened sheep, pelted with rain as thunder roars.  
  
Later, there is nothing left in his stomach to vomit with, but still occasionally his body tries. He is also afraid, and is glad of Marcus's arm around him, anchoring them both in the unpredictable hammock. It feels sometimes as if they are falling through the air, and then they are suddenly squashed together as if they have landed. Marcus's body is heavy when this happens, but it is also the only thing Esca can understand and cling to. The torture seems to continue forever, increasing in intensity, and neither of them can imagine fighting their way on deck to ask anyone, and no-one comes to them. After a particularly violent heave of the hammock there is an almighty ringing crack  
and then a moment's almost silence, followed by a crash loud enough to be heard above the storm. The ship shudders, and then, almost in slow motion compared to what has gone before, their cabin tips onto its side, and doesn't right itself.  
  
Esca twists over to look at Marcus, who is also wide-eyed with horror. As one they start to move. The door is above their heads, and Esca can just grasp the edges as Marcus holds him steadier. Marcus pushes him up as he pulls, and he gets up enough to wriggle and get his knee up and over. Once through, he reaches down to give Marcus a hand as he tries to stand in the swaying hammock, and somehow uses strength he didn't know he possessed to pull the larger man upwards, until Marcus has an elbow on the edge, and can swing himself up. They move up along what was the wall of a corridor that is already tilting downwards, towards the hatchway, incongruous steps now leading sideways into the wall and going nowhere, and they manage to reach it and Marcus gets through as the angle changes again, and Esca is slipping downwards, flailing, but Marcus grabs his hand and holds on as cold water pours through.  
  
Esca scrapes his knee as he gets it above the the frame and shoves upwards, Marcus pulling him towards him, holding on to something as they tip sideways and down. Then they are in turmoil, surrounded by rain and sloshing waist-high water filled with wet heavy sheep and bits of wood, and Marcus shouts in his ear, “Can you swim?” and Esca shakes his head, and Marcus shouts again, only just audible though he is shouting right into his ear, “Wood floats; find some wood and just hold on”, and then a huge torrent of water sweeps them apart and Esca is coughing up water and grabbing for whatever's nearest, and he clings to something, getting his arm over it, and breathing whenever he can get his head above the water, and finally he thinks, I was not meant for a watery death; I have not prepared for this in all my planning, and he asks the fish-gods to spare them all; Marcus, the sailors, and even the sheep.  
*  
  
His knee bangs sharply against something - an agonising scrape - but still he won't let go of his plank, and then his whole body is scratched down one side and he tries to see and finds dimly that he is amidst jagged rocks. He holds onto one, hauling himself out of the surf and lying around the top of it, too tired to mind the sharp edges cutting his hands and feet. He has no more to give – let the land and sea decide between them his fate.  
  
*  
  
Someone is speaking. He vaguely understands the words though the accent is foreign. He blinks his eyes open and tries to speak. Another voice, nearer, resolves into a woman's face, telling him to hush and rest. He struggles, trying to ask where they are and who they are with. She gentles him, and tells him that he is shipwrecked onto the Hibernian coast, and that they will care for him. He looks at her and says “Marcus?”, and she looks puzzled, and he says, “My friend”, and her face falls and she shakes her head. “No-one else, my dear; you were the only one found alive”. He twists, feels a fresh wave of pain run up his back, and grits his teeth breathing in and holding his breath, then remembers Marcus's lessons on pain, and breaths out, surrendering into it. Shallow breaths are easier, and he thinks a rib might be broken.  
  
The next time he wakes, he smells the peaty fire. He remembers what has happened and feels a pang for Marcus, then sadness for the crew, the farmers, and their ill-starred cargo. He hears a child shout for his mother that the naked man is awake again, and soon someone, a different woman, comes by and adeptly gives him water when he croaks. He tries to sit up, but he can't move one arm at all and his skin is aflame; he groans, and asks, “What's wrong with me?” She understands, smiles, and says, “You've been blessed by the gods, but you've paid a price: you've a broken collar bone so we've strapped your arm, and you're covered in cuts and bruises, and”, she smiles at him, “you've lost all your clothes.” Her language is so close to his own; some words are different and the tuning is different, but he can follow her. “Nothing serious seems to be wrong – we'll be able to tell more when you can stand, but don't try just yet”, she lays a hand on his shoulder to press him back,”you're still weak from the sea”. She feeds him more water, and asks his name and where he was going. He tells her his real name, his full name, and says, “I was going to Spain in a ship full of sheep.” Then, quieter, “Was there really no other survivor?” He wonders at the gods, that they could take so many lives, so greedily; that they could take Marcus who had tried to save him. Perhaps Marcus had offended his own, Roman gods.  
  
He takes a day to be properly up and about. His main helper, Arwain, has three children under her feet, but has the gift and acts as a lay healer, though she is not the main healer in the area. Her man, Beldane, greets him well enough when he comes in at night, but it seems he is still women's work until he gets back on his feet. The second day he insists on getting up, and though he feels faint, and his chest hurts and arm aches and body itches where the scratches are healing all down his left side, he walks to the seashore and looks at the coast, accompanied by one of Arwain's older children, Morvane, to show him around, and call the alarm if needed. He knows they will have looked up and down the shore hereabouts – Arwain told him of the night of the shipwreck and the storm, and how they found him in the morning amongst a lot of wood, dead sheep, and two dead sailors - both too small to be Marcus - who are now in graves on the headland. The dead sheep are even now being processed to salvage what can be got, the briny ocean a good way to keep the meat fresh whilst they clear the offal and preserve the skins. But it's a lot of work to keep the villagers busy, and can't be left, and Esca knows this type of coast – there are many small places that someone could be washed ashore and it's hard to check them all. He wants to check them all, but he knows it's already three tides since the storm, and no-one is likely to survive who hasn't already been found.  
  
They are kind to him, clothe him and treat him well, introducing him to the local elders one by one and teasing him about staying – they can always use another man, able to give more than he takes, especially perhaps for a family without sons of whom there are a couple close by. But Esca feels adrift still, unfinished plans haunting him, and this somehow doesn't feel like home, despite its resemblance to the place he grew up. He wonders what he will do.  
  
He helps out Beldane and Arwain and some of their neighbours – the work is familiar and he can be useful. Even the deepest cuts heal, his ribs and collarbone mend, and he gives thanks every day for his life, and after the first two nights of re-experiencing the hell of the shipwreck, he doesn't dream of anything that he can remember the next day, which is a mercy. Every so often his whole body feels like it is at sea again, but that too is fading as midsummer approaches.  
  
*  
  
It is midsummer, and he has been asked to dance for them as his offering to their celebrations. He has explained that it will not be sacred, though he is circumspect about why he is no longer blessed – they hate Romans enough here, and he finds he is torn when they deride them. The whole village picks itself up and travels further South and inland for a week of gatherings. Barely anyone stays behind if they can move. They travel for two days, and on the journey there seems to be a conspiracy amongst the villagers to throw him with the young women, to see if one sticks, and he likes them well enough but none stand out, and he is careful not to give anyone the wrong impression or to linger in private with any of them. Mainly he talks to Morvane who questions him relentlessly about his past, and who likes to talk back telling Esca his plans for the future.  
  
They arrive at a huge site, already filling up with people making small homes of their camps. Before Esca had seen the Roman town he would have marvelled at the size of this, and he is still impressed by its organisation. He stays with Arwain and Beldane so as not to give any ideas to anyone else about privileging their daughters, and Morvane is allowed to come to sit with the men of the village when they gather together. There is rivalry amongst some of the groups, and political talk, and boasting of who will win which contests in the next few days, but before long there is singing and eventually he sings a song of his home dedicating it to his family, and they all learn the chorus fast and join in, and he could almost be back there, and the whole Roman episode of his life could be erased. It is bittersweet.  
*  
Next day there are competitions and horse-trading, and the match-making rises in intensity, and he knows he must decide what he is to do next. At mealtime Arwain asks him what he is doing, and Beldane tries to protect him from his wife's curiosity, but Esca agrees that she has a point. He has lost much in his life, but here he has been given, well, a future; hope. But it doesn't yet console him. He is lost in thoughts of the past.  
   
Arwain is relating the day's tales to Beldane, and then she includes Esca, and tells him that she has heard that there is rumour of a Roman soldier captured and enslaved down the coast. Esca feels his heart leap in his throat, and presses for more details, but she knows none. He asks them both to find out all they can about where this person is and what has happened to him, and when Arwain refuses until he tells her why, he eventually recounts some of his tale from before the shipwreck and about Marcus – but only that Marcus rescued him from his own slavery in a Roman town.  
   
They ask why Marcus would save him, and he says, it is because he was a slave himself once before, and he immediately knows that Marcus will not survive slavery again for long, whether by his own hand or another's. If it is indeed he that they speak of (and Esca feels a jolt of pain at the idea that it might not be), then he has already been captured for several weeks; sooner or later he will find a way to end it.  
  
He cannot sleep that night, and hounds Arwain in the morning until she tells him sharply to go off and find something to do. She looks at him sympathetically, but there is also something else in her look and Esca wonders at his own motives; he is interested in news of, well, a friend, someone he owes a great deal to, someone whose fate he cares about. He goes and practises the dance, having to walk some way off to find emptiness. The next day is special - the longest day; this evening will be the more sacred gathering and even the children can stay up all night if they wish, and praise the dawn.  
  
Arwain knows nothing more that afternoon. Esca borrows the darkest clothes he can scrounge and he does not have a mask but he has an idea for a replacement, and Arwain and the children help him to paint the patterns on his face with charcoal mixed in fat, and on each others' for fun. In the early evening Esca goes to the men's side of the common ground, and prepares to dance as the eagle. He talks to the bard who will introduce him; the bard will tell a little of the story of the god before Esca takes the arena.  
  
When it is time, he is surprised to find the eagle is still there somewhere inside him, and though it is not as he might have wished, he does not shame himself or the god, and he feels elated when he finishes, almost managing to forget his craving for news. So, he is completely unprepared when he looks into the appreciative crowd at the end, and sees Marcus, sitting, eyes lowered, between two men in clan colours. He walks towards them, being congratulated by one or two who have been moved by his performance as he passes, and as he nears, he realises Marcus has a rope around his neck.  
  
He is almost on top of them when Marcus eventually looks up, and when their eyes meet there is a moment before his expression turns to astonished recognition and joy and as Marcus is saying his name, Esca blurts out in Latin, “I thought you were dead”, and then one of the men flanking Marcus is in his way, towering over him though not quite touching; the eagle holds some sway here, and they will not blaspheme by manhandling him.  
  
“What do you want with my slave?”, the other man is speaking, calmer, and Esca turns to him. “He saved my life; he's my friend”. The man considers him thoughtfully, before saying, “Well, his life's mine now, and he has no friends here”. There is a strong challenge there, and Esca knows that he cannot win this fight at this moment, verbal or physical, even with Marcus's help. The law here is not on their side; the Roman is an enemy of these people. Esca moves sideways so that he can see Marcus again, whose expression is wary. He seems to be able to move and does not look hurt but his skin is grey and under his eyes dark. Esca wonders how much of the language Marcus has learnt. He tells the man his name again, though he has been introduced to the whole arena, and asks his name. The man answers but clearly thinks the conversation is over. Esca says to Marcus, in Latin, “Hold on, my friend”, and nods to the slave-owner, before retreating to find the villagers he has befriended.  
   
*

“Gardrake isn't someone any of us want to cross”, Beldane is explaining, and the elder agrees; “We can't back you on this”.  
  
Esca has racked his brain and asked any of them for ideas, examples where slaves have been freed, but all they have come up with have been one or two trades; nothing like the Romans. He doesn't want to have to try to free Marcus by force – not only would it be difficult enough to achieve, but now he is known to have an interest, and suspicion would fall on his new companions bringing them feuds and hostilities, and gods know they've all had their share of those in their lives not to need more. There is already a lack of young men from warfare far and near; that is why they can accommodate him so easily; that is why they need any extra labour they can get from slaves.  
  
He tells them of the Roman practice of purchased manumission, and wonders if Marcus could buy himself freedom. The elder Branwain nods, considering, although Esca is wondering how Marcus could get the necessary trades – his property is land in Spain; not easy to trade, and any money or valuables have gone to the bottom of the sea. Branwain discusses the idea with them all, and agrees to suggest it to Gardrake's village, but now it must wait until tomorrow for the celebrations are begun. They are all willing to help Esca in his strange mission, but this is an important day, and they are missing good drinking time.  
  
*  
  
Early evening the next day finds two lots of delegates and one of the bards discussing Esca's proposal. It is a novelty, and has attracted wider attention; some are opposed to the precedent, whilst others think it a promising development. Gardrake is unconvinced about the idea, and when challenged comes up with a wild amount for compensation. In any case, he says, who will pay this; I'm not letting the Roman go before I receive the money. Esca says that he could go and arrange it, though to himself he can think of many reasons why it would be bad for him to try, on Roman territory, not speaking the language, and trying to sell a farm; the idea makes him cold, but he is prepared to try if this is a way out for Marcus.  
  
With intermediaries, they agree to fetch Marcus to make the proposal for his ransom and to see if he thinks his own life worth this.  
  
When he is brought, he looks worse than on the previous occasion. He looks confused to be the centre of attention, but once he sees Esca his demeanour becomes less agitated. Esca tells him the idea, and he looks blank at first, and Esca worries that perhaps some beating has addled his mind. He repeats the idea, and asks Marcus if he is able to raise such an amount, and if Esca would be able to make the arrangements as he himself will not be allowed to leave until the payment is made.  
  
Marcus's face falls. He tells them, using Esca as translator, that only he himself can act on the farm's collateral as his family's steward would not trust anyone else without a seal or token, and all went down in the ship. They are at stalemate.  
  
Esca says, “What if I were to stay in your place? Take your place, do your work, be your guarantee?” Everyone stares at him then including Marcus, and he thinks perhaps they're right, perhaps he is mad; the gods have certainly spoken through him today.  
  
Marcus asks, “You would do that for me?” Esca doesn't translate that for everyone else, just says yes before he can let himself back out of this. He may have just sold himself back into a life of slavery far worse than the one he endured before, and for what? For a Roman and some crazy Roman idea of honour.  
  
Gardrake is agreeing to the bargain but trying to up the price claiming that he will not get as much work from “the tiny Briton”, but he is overruled by his own village elders who mutter about greed, and the bard stands surety on the parties to the whole deal, and will ensure that the money is safely couriered back through his known contacts.  
  
Esca is to go to Gardrake's village as his slave. Marcus is to be given a pony and some coin from Gardrake's village, insured against the ransom, and is now, suddenly, free to go to Spain. He will send over the ransom when he can raise it from his farm. Beltane is unhappy how he's going to tell Arwain, but it is Esca's choice and he has no say in the matter. Esca is now Gardrake's hostage, and he can see the man aims to have heavy use of him. He and Marcus do not get to speak alone, but manage to briefly embrace before Esca is led away. Marcus shouts, “Hold on, my friend”.  
  
*  
  
In fact, it is not so bad at first. Gardrake and his son treat him fairly well – he is not a Roman though he stands in for one. He is nervous the first night; he swore to himself not to be used for sex again and is not sure how he will deal with the abuse if Gardrake or his boy wanted that from Marcus, but no-one seems to expect that from him. They feed him much what the family eat, but he works longer hours and has no leisure. He is always tired and fairly hungry, and has no chance to hunt for himself so gets little meat. The life is much as he was used to, and the lack of liberty is bad but it is the mental side that begins to eat at him, the longer time goes on and there is no word.  
  
He wants to believe he has not been utterly foolish, but is torn between this faith and the idea that resignation would be better for him in the long run. He thinks Gardrake may be having the same thoughts, though in truth Esca is as good a worker as Marcus since he knows the skills of the land, but Gardrake doesn't now have the satisfaction of owning an enemy, and seems occasionally embarrassed to be owning Esca.  
  
The harvest is all in and the family's buildings shored up against encroaching winter when the courier arrives. The word gets around and the whole village collects together, mostly amazed that this has happened at all.  
  
Once they are gathered together, the courier, taking his duties and his commission from the bard very seriously, takes an age to get to the point, telling a long story about his journey and giving other news along the way. Both Gardrake and Esca are twitching in frustration, but everyone else is enjoying the theatre. Finally he tells them what he has brought, and that he has instructions also for Esca. He has brought the money that was agreed for Gardrake, but he has also brought some money for Esca, enough to pay his passage and expenses, and directions to the farm in Spain that Esca must now learn off by heart. He is invited to go, though whether he does so is, the courier conveys, is entirely his own choice – there is no obligation. If he chooses not to, the money is his to help start a new life here or where he chooses.  
  
The sum of money is more than Esca has ever owned. He spends his first night free again, thinking through his options in Gardrake's house, drinking Gardrake's mead with, it feels like, everyone that Gardrake has ever met.  
  
The next morning, head pounding, he buys a pony. It is not a good time to take a sea voyage, but he cannot wait. All that remains is that he must visit Arwain first and give his thanks to the village that looked after him.  
  
*  
  
The journey to Spain is boring, which is a mercy after the previous attempt. Esca buys a pony and heads for the port described for him by the bard's courier. There, he sells the pony to another of the bard's friends and then manages to negotiate a suitable passage at a good price. The weather holds, and the crossing is calm enough, though Esca is rigid with tension for most of it and has to stay an extra night when he reaches the Spanish port because he is exhausted and cannot negotiate for a horse in this condition in another language. But the next day he is well, and no-one robs him of his new horse or his small amount of coin left for necessities, and the directions Marcus sent him are accurate enough to get by. Again, the language is not the same as his own, quite different in fact, but his Latin plus the odd word is quite sufficient to buy food and lodging and check his directions for the four days he travels inland from the port.  
  
When he reaches the farm, there is a picture of an Eagle in flight on the gateway. He feels his heart soar, and swings off the horse to walk the last few feet. Two people emerge from different buildings when he walks his horse into the yard. The first to reach him is not Marcus, and he says to the old man, “I was told I could find Marcus Flavius Aquila here; I am a friend of his”. The man smiles at him and says “Who shall I tell him is here?”  
  
“No need Stephanos, I'd know this man anywhere”, Marcus comes around the horse, and immediately pulls him into a hug, bone-crushing and intense. He pulls back looking slightly sheepish, and says to Stephanos, “This is Esca, whom I told you about. Who saved my life”. He runs his hands up Esca's arms, looking wonderingly at him, “You're alive, and you came”. He grips Esca's shoulders and Esca feels a strong urge to step forward into his arms and kiss him now in the Roman way, claim him. He has to drop his eyes or he will say ridiculous things out loud, whilst Stephanos looks on. He says instead, “May I stay with you for a while?” Marcus then seems to gather himself, and says to Stephanos, “Please take his horse and packs, and put him in the guest room. We have much to talk about and I would take him with me now”. Stephanos smiles again and murmurs his assent, moving away with the horse.  
  
Esca moves his own hands to Marcus's shoulders, matching his manly grip, and then cannot resist his urges and moves them further up around his neck, saying, helplessly, “Marcus”. He holds on; he knows his eyes tell everything he can no longer hide as they meet Marcus's and his heart is racing. How did he get here, in love with a Roman man? He thinks his soul has been stretched into a different shape, and wonders if it is a test of the gods; this is so far from anyone's expectations, including his own, that it must be divine.  
  
He knows Marcus's laws do not condone this but clearly Marcus too is under this spell. Marcus is looking at him with pure adoration; though he can see the purity transforming into something else as Marcus runs his hands over him, differently now that he has satisfied himself that Esca is whole, alive and really here. Now those hands are running down his back slowly, and Marcus is looking at his lips as his hands reach and continue onto Esca's buttocks, drawing him nearer.  
  
Suddenly Marcus steps away from where they are swaying towards each other, takes his hand and pulls him towards the biggest building. They move fast, unspeaking, along a sunlight-striped corridor, around a corner, way too far for Esca; he wants Marcus here and now; the singing is lit in his blood, and he just holds on until they reach a room, dark after the sunlight outside, and Marcus is pushing him and he falls, pulling Marcus with him.  
  
They are on a bed, and Marcus is kissing him, and he struggles to pull Marcus nearer, wanting to eat him, biting, devouring, but also frantic to get his clothes out of the way, to pull off the underwear Marcus is wearing and finally he gets the loincloth undone and his hand can grasp Marcus's cock, and it is hot in his hand and Marcus writhes whilst trying to rip off his own underclothes, finally getting hands on his arse and widening his legs outside Esca's.  
  
They are kicking the loose clothes away, tunics pushed up under their arms and Marcus rears up and hauls his tunic over his head and flings it into the corner of the room, then reaches down and pulls his penis from Esca's hold, shoving it between the tops of Esca's thighs, long enough to press into the crease of his arse, and takes Esca's cock, stripping it as he ruts hard with his hips. Esca feels Marcus's hand, deliciously fast on him and grabs onto Marcus's hips, both of them looking down between them at the glinting gold flashing in Marcus's fist, and then Marcus leans down, still moving his hips and his hand, and takes his mouth again, tongue thrusting hard, and Esca just opens to him, so near orgasm that he cannot even kiss back, and then he feels the convulsions as Marcus brings him up and over the edge. Then Marcus is wanking himself hard above Esca and Esca manages to add his own hand to Marcus's, as he makes a strangled noise and stills, pulsing onto Esca's stomach.  
  
Esca finally gets out of his own tunic, and wipes the mess on his stomach away with it, rough linen scratchy on his skin. And Marcus has stretched out beside him and Esca turns, and they stare at each other. Esca feels like he is drowning again, and he fights to stay afloat, on top of this feeling, and asks, “I can stay the night here then?” and Marcus smiles, warm and open, but he says “No, I think you should travel on, traveller, because if you stay I am keeping you here in my bed forever”, and they both laugh, and then they are looking at each other again, and Esca feels such a surge of desire he cannot move, but suddenly he knows what he wants now and he says to Marcus “Fuck me”, and now he is begging for what he really wants. Marcus looks at him, and says, “You do not have to do this for me.” He takes a deep breath and blows it out, and Esca is reminded of his relaxation exercises for moments of pain and tension, and starts to get worried, frowning. Marcus continues; “I have to say this to you for my honour, though I feel more cowardly about this than any battle.” He pauses, biting his lip and then holding Esca's eyes: “I mean it when I ask you to my bed forever. But it has to be your choice now, and if you just want this for the night, then I will … I can allow you that choice”.  
  
Esca rolls onto his back and pretends to consider, but only for a moment because Marcus has bared his soul. “Marcus”, he says, turning his head to look at Marcus's face; “I have been travelling for days, for hundreds of miles, but I came here only for you. You are all I want”. He turns back onto his side and adds, “Forever”. He kisses Marcus slowly, and the way Marcus reacts makes him understand more of this thing, this bodily metaphor for lovemaking, but he has had enough of words and metaphors and he pulls up, looking down at Marcus and saying, “So, will you fuck me now?”, and that also has Marcus reacting.  
  
*  
  
Marcus reaches for a jar of oil by his bedside, and hands it to Esca. “Prepare yourself”, he challenges, and sits up as if to be an audience. Esca's desire intensifies and he pulls up his knees and lets his legs fall apart so that Marcus can see everything. He pours out some oil onto his cock and smooths it all over his cock and balls and then slides his fingers down, twisting the ring in his perineum first and then moving down to the darkened hole below, pushing one finger straight inside. Marcus makes a noise as he watches, and Esca draws the finger right out and slowly pushes it back inside. Esca thinks to himself that he knows, since he became the Eagle of his clan, that he likes to perform, for others to watch him, but he has never before felt the erotic nature of that performance until he lay here with Marcus's eyes darkly watching him, the sense of connection between the two of them based just on his actions and Marcus's reactions. He pulls his finger out and slowly drags it up towards the top of his penis, rubbing it round the rings at the ridge before pouring more oil on himself and sliding two wettened fingers down, faster now and straight into his body, arching his hips up as he fucks his fingers in and out, then slowing it down again, watching Marcus watch him. Slowly again, he tracks his fingertips up his cock, and then fists it once or twice, before moving his hand back down to push three fingers inside.  
  
He is aware that he is awakening a memory for both of them that they may both prefer to forget, but he has decided now, and lived with the decision long enough, that Marcus is his choice, and the fact that they had sex previously under harsher circumstances where he did not have a choice will not prevent him from doing what he wants to do now. This man fucked him against his will. It is a stark fact. But this man also had compassion. He saved his life and convinced him that there was honour in the Roman world. So, here he is, in love with his enemy, admiring his mind and utterly in thrall to his body. It is well that they remember and face everything they have both endured, and transcend it, rather than destroy each other by pretences and lies. Only thus can two enemies save each other and live, together.  
  
But, they will talk about all this later. For now Esca looks in his Roman's eyes and sees the reflection of his own desire as he fucks himself. He gasps out, “Marcus”, and then Marcus is there, between his knees, coating his cock in oil and holding Esca's legs apart as he positions himself. He looks up at Esca, and Esca whispers “Please”, and Marcus pushes in, holding back a little, letting Esca dictate the pace as he enters. Then he fucks him, only small movements but making Esca's body respond, breath catching. After a while, deliciously building the tension in Esca's body, he flips them around so that Esca is on top, and says to Esca teasingly, “You want to be fucked; you do the work, and let an old man relax here”. Esca smiles at him, aware that his leg must be bothering him, and sits up and starts to gyrate around, fisting his own cock. Marcus pulls his hand away and grips both of Esca's wrists, holding them away from Esca's body, and says, “Make yourself come like this”. Esca feels the thrill run through him at Marcus's expression, and he concentrates on the sensations inside himself, tightening and relaxing his inner muscles, building tension in his groin, trying to angle himself to get the most pleasure.  
  
Watching Marcus as he speeds up and thrusts himself up and down on Marcus's cock sends shivers of desire through him as Marcus stares at him, eyes black with lust, visibly fighting to keep control of his own orgasm, and it becomes a race as Esca sustains his rhythm and Marcus has to close his eyes to get control. Esca wonders what else he can do, and he twists one wrist free and reaches behind him to cradle Marcus's balls, pressing behind them, and when Marcus moans he leans back further and gets his fingertip to Marcus's hole and pushes inside, pumping his body rapidly up and down. Marcus groans and drops his other hand and grabs his hips and fucks up into him three times, groaning each time as his body spasms around Esca's finger and he thinks he can feel Marcus come inside him.  
  
When Marcus finally relaxes beneath him he sits still holding his weight up off Marcus's body, and brings his fist back to his cock, jacking himself loosely and fast until he is tightening up, feeling Marcus's cock slip from his body as his own orgasm ripples and becomes a big wave right through him, pulsing in his cock and his balls and his arse.  
  
Marcus wipes across their stomachs with something soft, and then pulls him down and kisses him.  
  
  
Later - he isn't sure how much later but the light has shifted in the room - he wakes up to find his head on Marcus's thigh, and Marcus drinking and reading above him. Marcus has made no move to hide what they have been doing, and it only now occurs to Esca that that means Marcus must have staff here that he truly trusts. He smiles and kisses Marcus's knee, and Marcus strokes his hair, tangling his hand up in it, so much longer now. “You're awake”, he says. “Would you like to come and meet everyone?”  
  
*  
  
A couple of days later, when he is finally allowed to get some uninterrupted sleep, he has a dream where he is again the Eagle, swooping on high air currents. He turns his sharp eyes on all the fields and hills around, and one catches his eye; a deep green field, and in the centre a magnificent white bull. He acknowledges the other god with a turn about his wing tip, and then flies on, lord of the vast terrain below.  
  
**


End file.
